


Make Some Noise

by shes_my_becks



Series: Truth Is Now Acceptable [1]
Category: Cobra Starship, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Fall Out Boy, Killjoys - Fandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:31:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shes_my_becks/pseuds/shes_my_becks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>Frank is living alone in the hidden slums of Battery City, scavenging and fighting to survive day to day. Just barely scraping by he puts all the energy he has into fighting BLI, the corrupt company ruling the city, with the little things; he is an explosion of colour in a vast expanse of white.</strong>
</p><p>Ray is happy in the desert he calls home with the crew he calls family. When the rest of his crew is ghosted, Ray must find his own way in the dangerous and ever shifting sands, newly alone and nursing a deep seated hatred for the man who ordered his family dead; Korse. </p><p>Gerard is a model citizen of Battery City. Working in medicinal testing facilities Gerard takes his pills and strives for A Better Tomorrow, his record marred only by the hazy affection he feels for his younger brother. He is content with his lot and lives only to serve the gracious and generous BLI.</p><p>Mikey is a rebel on the inside. Having weaned himself secretly off of the pills mandated by the City, he discovers a hidden world of colour and noise under his very nose, and becomes wrapped up in the secret revolution of the inner city rebels. </p><p>These lives will collide.</p><p>These lives will scream into the silence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey to anyone who might come across this - this is my first stab at any kind of fanfic so I hope it's at least a little bit entertaining, but please let me know what you thought of it in the comments! Constructive criticism is very welcome as this is an ongoing work and the other characters will follow; I hope you enjoy! Thanks for reading :)

Frank’s hand arcs steady and smooth over the expanse of white in front of him, illegal colour blooming from the can he holds to join the explosion already staining the wall. As he finishes, he steps back and looks smugly at the bold letters now adorning the wall of a side street, between a pharmacy and a grocery store advertising canned meat and veg, and not much else. Throwing the now empty spray can to the floor Frank turns and silently melts into the shadows, leaving no evidence of his presence in the night but the towering red words displayed proudly; 

MAKE SOME NOISE

~*~*~

As a general rule, Frank keeps his head down and does what he has to do to survive in the hidden slums of Battery City. He has his own little corner of an alley in the worst part of town, one that he prides himself on holding; it takes guts to defend your territory out here, but after a number of fights with some chancers looking for an easy target (and to be fair, Frank admits to himself - with his wiry build and half starved appearance he does look the part), he is left to himself in the damp, gloomy little corner he calls home. 

Frank folds himself into the ratty blankets he has amassed over the years, burrowing deeper into his nest as he tracks the sun beginning to soften the black of the night. He never could sleep after his little excursions, he always feels most alive after, ironically enough, risking his life to leave a splash of colour to brighten up the endless white. 

Sometimes he wonders if he’s maybe, possibly, a little bit insane. 

Sighing, Frank gives up on sleeping at all before the morning comes, surrendering to the buzz of adrenaline pumping through his body; he can’t even find it in himself to care. Besides, he has shit to do today - spray paint isn’t cheap, and he’d traded 3 days worth of food and his warmest shirt just for the one can he’d blown last night. 

Totally worth it. 

Smirking to himself Frank clambers from his corner, and gets ready to head out for the day. He packs everything of value into his faded yellow and purple rucksack (a prized possession he’d discovered when he came across some hidey hole that had been abandoned… probably), and arranges his blankets under the slab of plywood that serves as an acid rain shelter at night. No matter how hard won it doesnt’t do to leave living spaces easy to see, and he fiddles until he’s happy that his corner looks like nothing more than a lump of rotting wood and garbage, not even worth scavenging through. 

By the time he has himself together and has forced down half a can of limp stringy things that vaguely resemble carrots, grimacing in disgust, the dawn has well and truly set in. Other city rats are beginning to stir, shaking themselves awake to face another day as he makes his way to the marketplace. 

Carefully, Frank avoids looking directly at any of the emaciated faces, though he quietly observes his surroundings from the corner of his eye as picks his way through the dingy maze of alleys and side streets and dead ends, with his head bent towards the ground. Eye contact is a good way to get yourself into a fight in these areas, but he's never quite been able to quell the curiosity inside him, and always keeps a lookout for anything of interest on his travels. 

Besides, it doesn't hurt to be aware of who has what and where. He doesn’t relish stealing, but it's a necessary part of survival in this world - if you didn’t pick a few pockets every now and again, you wouldn’t get by.

Frank lets his thoughts wander as he slips through the shadows, sticking close to the sides of buildings. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers a time when these slums were bustling hives of activity and life, bursting with colour and noise. He remembers a time when everyone was free to walk in the sun, unconfined to the shadows as he is now. Every now and again he passes a building he recognises from those days - an old doctors surgery, a florist's, a comic book store. Now they’re derelict, falling down and uncared for, used as storage by Better Living Industries. 

Frank was seven when they swooped in and took over. 

Drifting through the alleys as silent as a ghost, Frank tries not to think about the day he came home from school early, frightened by the series of earth shaking booms he’d heard and the frantic whisperings between his teachers of a worldwide attack, only to find an empty house. Though he had searched for years afterwards he never found his parents - outspoken and upstanding and alive as they were, he assumes them now to be in prison, or dead, or - Frank shakes his head a couple of times, cutting off the thought he did not want to even consider.

He remembers the lessons he'd had in school on the nuclear war that destroyed most of the earth, and all the stories about how humanity had clawed back some of the earth and set up a handful of strongholds like Battery City. Not everyone chose to live in the cities - Frank had known even then about the smatterings of people who'd chosen to take their chance out in the desert lands outside the city borders, but the dune dwellers had been branded idiot, and given little thought. Over the years they city's people had managed to make it work - until Better Living Industries, a small radical group who disagreed with the 'laid back' approach the remaining people took to their lives, and became the topic on everyone's lips. No one took them seriously, happy with the lives they'd built from the ashes; and that was where the mistake lay.

BLI had outlawed all bright colours and music when they took control of what was left of the earth, and instated a world of dazzling white punctuated only occasionally by black or grey. The company had made a whole new set of laws, one of them being that every citizen was required to take daily pills that ‘eradicated illness’ - grateful for help, no one realised until it was too late that the pills actually just turned the user into a mindless zombie with no personality, susceptible to commands.

Able to do whatever they wanted Better Living Industries tracked down any and all who were particularly bright souls, musicians and artists and writers, and arrested them. No one who had gone into the depths of the company was ever seen again - and Frank can only assume his parents to be one of that number.

It’s no use worrying about them now; there’s nothing he can do.

Frank was among those who were either too young or too cynical to take the pills, and he’d run from the empty house he grew up in when blank faced men in white suits had knocked on the door - leaving him out in the slums to fend for himself while BLI were ‘Striving for a Better Tomorrow’.

BLI for the most part leave them alone as long as they didn’t break any rules, with occasional raids when the city rats get too cocky and stray into civilization. It suits them to drag a rat through the white houses of the zombies every now and again, as an example. 

Sometimes Frank wishes that his family had taken their chances out in the desert while they still could - but the day BLI took over they blocked off every known entrance and exit, and now he is a prisoner along with everyone else.

Stumbling into the marketplace Frank pulls himself into the here and now, sharpening his mind and concentrating on his surroundings. The little stalls and traders are already bustling with life, the beating heart of the slums. The market is completely against the rules of Better Living Industries and would be liable for destruction if discovered, so everything and everyone is careful with their goods, even the biggest stalls ready to scoop it all up and run at a moment's notice. BLI send Drac raids pretty regularly, but everyone here has learned how to melt away into the shadows and the slums, like Frank, and most usually get away unhurt. 

Unobserved Frank stands quietly on the edge of the main area and watches; he sees one of the Urie boys haggling over a loaf of bread and being utterly ripped off by the trader - naivety gets you nowhere, Frank thinks to himself, but it's nice to see a little innocence left in the world nonetheless. He sees a group of little city rats running rings around a trader on the edge of the market, laughing and shouting while the biggest one of them sneaks a few cans of food and a bottle of water under his jacket with a bright, cheeky grin, and smiles in spite of himself as he watches the kids run off, leaving the trader a fetching shade of puce as he shakes his fist. 

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary Frank steps towards the main hub of the stalls, when a stranger catches his eye. The man is lingering, as he is, on the edges of the market, looking unsure and out of place. Frank puzzles as to why this guy, fiddling with his blond hair and looking about him with the air of a nervous mouse, caught his eye, before noting the subtle differences between him and those around him. 

Alone on the edge of the market, his clothes are just a little too clean, a little too white, his features just a little too full and healthy. The guy clearly has not come off the streets, Frank thinks; the city rats clothe themselves in as much colour as they can find, and are filthy - not much opportunity to clean up out here - and starved. 

Obviously, he thinks to himself, this guy is still living and working under Better Living in its pristine white, sterile little world populated by pill popping zombies. So what’s he doing here slumming it with the rats? 

Even as Frank watches and considers the man visibly gathers his courage, squares his shoulders, and strolls with an excellent impression of casual confidence to the stall closest to where he stands, which predominantly sells half used marker pens and cans of paint (Frank’s practically best buds with the traders as a regular customer), along with stickers and similarly colourful, horrifically illegal things. 

He catches the exchange between the two and watches as a can of peaches (!), a bag of boiled sweets (!!), and a chocolate bar (!!!!) in plain white packaging are handed over for a pack of three coloured pens and half a pencil. 

Frank's eyes boggle at the sight and his stomach growls discontentedly as he eyes the absolute fortune this stranger has given away and he determinedly does not think of the dry bread and hard cheese he’d eaten last night, as a treat. Even for a law abiding citizen of Battery City working for BLI this stuff is a major deal, and is totally worth triple what this idiot has just traded for it. 

Seeing the proud set of the man’s shoulders after his trade Frank growls under his breath in irritation at the utter waste he has just witnessed, taking a half step towards the stall despite himself, just as the punk turns around, and accidentally locks eyes with him. 

The warning jolt of adrenaline that bursts into his veins at breaking his no eye contact rule prompts him to drop his eyes almost instantly, and when he looks back up the man is away, weaving through the crowd with his new goods tucked firmly under his arm. The sight of brown eyes is stamped on his vision though; he had seen in that moment a glimpse of something he hadn’t seen in a long time. 

A spark of curiosity, of hope, of life was in the eyes of that stranger, bright and strong. It was something they had all had, once, but Frank doesn’t remember the last time he’d seen anything but mild amusement or detached interest in the eyes of any BLI citizen. He’d almost forgotten what it looked like. 

Frank shakes the vaguely wistful thoughts from his mind and wanders on autopilot to his favourite stall, pushing away the little voice in his head telling him to go back and find that guy, for fucks sake. 

“Hey Frankie!” 

He jumps about a foot in the air and lets out a totally manly shriek at the little body that had materialised next to him, and is now attempting to scale him like a particularly short tree. 

Frank groans out loud but does not try to hide his grin, and rolls his eyes at the tiny attacker, now clinging to his back and peering over his shoulder. 

“Hey little monkey,” Frank says. “You know, we’ve talked about this. If you keep jumping out on me like that you might get hurt one day, I wouldn’t want to take you out by accident because you took me by surprise.” 

Despite his best efforts to sound firm and authoritative he hears a snort from somewhere near his right hip, followed by a “yeah, you wish Frankie. You couldn’t take me out even if you wanted to! I’m the biggest baddest punk out there. Pow Pow Pow!!” Each “Pow” is punctuated by a tiny fist to the gut, and Frank valiantly stands there and takes it without so much as a wince (well, maybe a little one - the kid's stronger than he looks). 

“Oh so that’s how you wanna play it huh little man?” Frank growls playfully and swings the kid high into the air, catching and holding him as he giggles. 

“Yeah, just you wait and see! I’ll get ya, just see if I don’t assface!” Comes a piping breathless voice. 

“Right, that’s it!” Frank gently throws the kid down and starts tickling him, pinning the wriggling mess of limbs down and avoiding flailing legs. 

The little rat shrieks and shakes with laughter, Frank mercilessly prodding at him until he finally begs “Okay Frankie okay! You’re the toughest I swear please stop Frankie, please please please!” 

That's much more like it. Frank crows in triumph and struts around, throwing the loser a smug look when he sits back and mutters “Whatever, didn’t mean it ya big cheater”. 

“Aw come on Declan. We’re still bestest buds right? You’re real strong little monkey, you just need to get a little bigger that’s all.” He crouches down and tilts the kids chin up, looking him in the eye and pulling funny faces until he gives a grudging smile. It makes Frank’s heart sing; he loves the bones of that little rat. “Now where’s your daddy? I need to talk to him for a little bit”. 

Declan jumps up and grabs his hand, already over his sulk, and Frank allows himself to be towed towards a familiar stall while inane chatter breaks over his head. 

“...and I found some jeans Frankie, can you believe it?! They’re all yucky and they have lots of holes but they’re pretty awesome really, and Uncle Benz said he would help me wash ‘em and sew ‘em and that they’ll look real nice, and they’re not even brown or white they’re blue sti - hey Dad! I brought you Frankie. Can I go play now?” 

Frank peers at Declan’s dad over the mop of hair vibrating excitedly and answers his fond smile with a little shake of his head - he’s known Sandman for years and remembers when Declan was born. Sandman’s the closest thing he has to family these days, and he loves Declan to pieces. Even still, he doesn’t know his friend’s real name - like most of the traders and anyone outside of BLI with any small bit of influence, he’s built a defence around his alias, and holds his born name as a precious secret. Frank never felt significant enough to give himself one. When he’s old enough, Declan will choose his own and Frank will forget he ever knew the name the kid grew up with.

“Sure Dec. Just make sure you stay close okay?” Declan shoots off with a, “Sure Dad. Bye Frankie!” thrown over his shoulder, and Frank laughs when Sandman yells at the retreating back, “Be careful Dec! Just - oh never mind!”, and sighs in exasperation. 

“He’s growing up fast huh?” Frank hops on to the makeshift table of Sandman’s stall beside a pile of bandages and some other medical crap that he doesn’t know anything about and swings his legs. 

“Crazy fast, man,” Sandman says, settling himself next to Frank, shoving a little. “He’ll be seven in a couple months, I can’t believe it, he’ll be off doing his own thing before I know it. You know he’s got a girlfriend now?”. 

He feels his mouth drop open. “No way. Who?!” 

“Ruby, his Uncle ‘Fro’s daughter,” he smirks proudly, pointing out where Declan had run off into a corner and was now blushing furiously while stammering to a pretty little girl with a messy brown bun. 

That was possibly the cutest thing Frank has seen, ever. He barely contains his squeal of delight and promptly decides to change the subject to avoid completely embarrassing himself. 

“So,” he lowers his voice and glances quickly around them to check for listening ears; no one is paying them any attention, all too busy haggling or chatting, occupied with the business of the bustling stalls in what used to be a town square. “Have you spoken to Benzedrine? Does he have what I need?” He watches Sandman’s face pale ever so slightly under his ratty old hat, and almost feels bad for the guy; but this is important, and he’s a vital contact. Frank is planning something big, and he can’t let anything stop him. 

“Yeah,” 

Sandman replies so quietly he has to lean closer to hear. “He says he can get you what you want, but you’ll have to go eastside to get it. He can’t spare the time or the manpower to run it down here safely”. 

Frank feels a cool squeeze of dread in his stomach at that and tries not to let it show on his face. The journey from the slums in the south of the city to the eastside, where Benz has a club and a base for collecting contacts, info and useful items of all sorts, is ridiculously dangerous. No sane rat makes that journey alone and expects to come out of it alive. 

“Okay, that’s fine. When did he say to go get them?” He replies, making a valiant effort at nonchalance. 

“He said he should have them by this time next week, and that you can crash at the club if you want while you pick them up. But, Frank, you’re not gonna go all that way on your own are you? It’s way too risky, you know how many Dracs there are buzzing round the housing blocks. You’ll get picked up in seconds!” It's quite touching really, how much Sandman cares about him - a little spark of warmth inside him blooms, chasing away the dread.

He doubts anyone but Sandman and Dec would miss him if he didn’t make it back. 

“I have to do this, Sandman,” he replies more confidently. “I know it’s reckless and stupid, but I just have to.” 

“Why though?! I don’t get why it’s suddenly so important. BLI have always been evil bastards (Frank blinks in shock at hearing Sandman swear; he was usually so gently spoken), what’s changed now?” 

He can feel even as Sandman speaks the itch under his skin that he can’t get at; he’s restless all the time, he can feel his brain spinning around and around with the monotony of every single pointless day of the pointless life that he leads. His life is insignificant and meaningless and he wants to do something, to be someone, to join in the war that he knows is being waged against BLI every day. He wants to have a purpose. 

Thinking that going off on a rant would probably be a little dramatic Frank just shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know man, I just need to do something, you know? I want to show them that there are still things they don’t have control of.” 

Frank sees Sandman's blue eyes soften fractionally, and ducks his head as his friend bumps a shoulder to his. 

“Yeah, I know Frankie,” his gaze slips over to where Declan is sidling closer to Ruby. “If it wasn’t for the little one I guess I would be the same. But be careful, okay? I want you to come back, don’t go getting yourself caught breaking the rules now.” 

Frank tries to swallow around the lump that had appeared in his throat. “I’ll do my best man. And hey, you know that you and Dec - you know I lo-”. 

He is cut off in his little moment by the dull roar of the busy marketplace rising to a panicked buzz, punctuated by a voice carrying over the noise; 

“Dracs! One minute, everybody scatter; get gone or get dead rats, go!” 

This is not an uncommon occurrence and everyone knows the drill, but to get caught in a Drac raid would mean being shot on sight or dragged away to god knows where, so Frank runs for Declan, dodging and ducking around people before spotting him cowering in the corner he’d been in with Ruby, who he can now see disappearing along with the impressive bush that is ‘Fro’s hair. He scoops him into his arms where he lies still this time, frightened and all too aware of what’s happening.

Keeping a sharp eye out for Dracs he makes for an alley on the opposite side of the market to where he knows they’ll arrive; intimidating but stupid, they never seem to think of changing their tactics. 

Sandman catches up to them having gathered the contents of his stall into an old bedsheet and tied it at the ends, and the three of them slink into the shadows just as the sounds of the first shots ring out, and the screaming begins. 

Frank knows these parts like the back of his hand, and he leads the three deeper into the maze of dingy backstreets, shrouded in shadows like he was born to them; he always had taken comfort in wrapping himself in the shadows, like a protective second skin. 

They run for a few minutes longer before Frank deems it safe to stop, tucked into a quiet little corner, and puts Declan down to catch his breath. He wheezes and coughs a  
little - damn is he unfit, and the dirty damp air does nothing for his lungs. 

Sandman fusses over Declan, assuring himself that his son is safe, before turning to Frank and giving him a sombre grimace by way of a smile; Frank can feel the way he lives in fear for the kid, and how he hates that he has to raise him in this kind of place. Hell, Frank hates it too, but there’s shit all either of them can do about it. 

The man opens his mouth to say something, but promptly shuts it when they both hear the unmistakeable sound of heavy boots stomping against the ground - boots clearly not belonging to another city rat. 

Frank feels his heart drop to his knees, and meets Sandman’s eyes as they both breathe out a vicious 

“Shit”.

Without thinking Frank whirls wildly around looking for somewhere to hide, and his eyes settle on some mildewy steps half hidden by rubbish clearly leading down to a basement of some kind; without hesitating he takes a hold of Sandman and Declan both, and launches them bodily down the steps hissing “stay there, and be quiet”. 

Satisfied that his little family of two are safe, for now, he turns to face the footsteps which are now heart wrenchingly close, and scrabbles desperately in the garbage for something he can defend himself with, anything at all. He flings everything his hands touch away, searching for something solid or heavy.

Fuck, he thinks, I’m not making it out of here, when he finds nothing but old newspapers and empty food wrappers. He sends a silent sorry and goodbye to the two hiding just a few feet away, and turns to look death in the eye as it comes barrelling around the corner, holding a ray gun. He feels a sense of peaceful acceptance alongside his fear, and knows that he will face a shot to the head with honour; he will die on his feet, as a man.

The Drac skitters to a halt as it catches sight of Frank, surprise evident in the way it pauses, and then approaches with its gun pointed at Frank’s head, moving slowly toward him. The white rubber mask on its face is painted, as they all are, with fangs dripping red blood from a red mouth, soulless black eyes and scraggly black hair glued to the top. Its white suit already has blood spattered on the right side, and Frank feels bile rise in his throat. There are always fatalities when the Dracs come to town, but it isn’t easy to stomach for the rats when one of their own is taken out by nothing more than a shell, mind wiped clean and filled with instructions to kill by none other than BL-fucking-I. 

The thing stalks closer and makes Frank nervous; why hasn’t it shot him yet? Here he stands, defenceless, cornered, yet it inches closer still; why- 

Fuck. 

Frank feels a new wave of anger crash over him as he realises that this foul, disgusting creature is going to try to take him alive. Death, sure, everyone has to die sometime right? But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go down fight if the thing is going to try to take him alive. 

The Drac can’t be more than six feet away from him now, but he desperately casts another eye over the piles of rubbish around him, before landing on something glinting in the weak sunlight filtering through the clouds; hope soars inside him as he realises it's a knife. 

He think his heart might just be trying to leap right out of his chest, and goes to trick the thing; yelling, he feints to his right and feels smug for half a second as the monster lunges with him, and then dives back and to the right to snatch up the knife, rolling as he hits the ground and twisting so that he comes back up on his feet, facing the Drac.

Hell fuckin’ yeah! That shit was so ninja, he’s gonna be so pissed if Sandman and Dec didn’t see that totally wicked move, he was s- 

Oh. right. 

Deal with the Drac first. 

Frank refocuses himself and crouches low, ignoring the burn in thighs and centering himself around the (woah, huge) kitchen knife gripped in his sweaty palm. The Drac lets out a feral snarl and whips round, gun held up. 

The thing sounds far too irritated and a an irritated Drac is a homicidal Drac; plans for capture seem to have gone down the drain and Frank throws himself to his left as he hears the buzz of its gun being charged just in time to feel a ray of light warm his ear as it snaps past a hair’s breadth away. 

Sweat pours down his face and he keeps his eyes trained on the thing, trying to manoeuvre closer without showing the knife that he shoves hurriedly in his pants to let his hands go free.

Another blast comes at him and Frank ducks for cover, but he isn’t fast enough; fire explodes in his thigh and he goes down, yelling through gritted teeth. He goes to touch the wound but quickly yanks his hand away; the pressure of touch feels like acid being dripped directly into his veins and he tries not to whimper in pain, dragging himself further away from the cellar that holds Sandman and Declan; he can try to keep the Drac away from them at least. 

The thing seems to have gained back some composure having wounded him and holsters its gun, instead pulling a wicked looking needle from inside its jacket, and uncaps it. 

Oh hell no. 

Frank grits his teeth and pretends to give himself over to the pain, whimpering pathetically ( which really, he thinks, is not too difficult. He’s not convinced that he won’t pass out from the pain; wounds like this are often fatal in the slums), and allows the thing to get so close to him he can smell its rancid breath. 

It bears down on him holding the needle inches from his arm, and he briefly considers the possibility of his heart actually beating through his ribcage as he stares up at the chillingly blank eyes now visible through the mask. It chills him to the bone, looking into those eyes; there's nothing in them. He’s always been a big believer that you can see a person’s soul through their eyes (well, anyone not on the goddamn BLI pills), and there's nothing at all to see in these. Whoever the thing had been, the person under that mask, is already dead; Frank feels a surge of pity even as the Drac advances on him. 

He has to kill it, he has no choice - even if his stomach is twisting and churning at the thought of it. 

Hardening his heart, he adjusts his grip on the knife hidden underneath his injured leg, and takes a deep breath. Watching the tip of the needle come down to meet the soft skin in the crease of his elbow, he waits until he feels the cool kiss of the metal, and rolls sharply - he hears the Drac grunt in surprise as he slips away from under its fingertips.

Frank has more pressing things at the forefront of his mind though - like the fact that his leg is on fire. He can feel his eyes streaming in sympathy for it, but ignores it and forces himself to focus. He twists back to face the Drac which is stood stock still, like it hasn’t quite figured out what’s going on yet. 

The thing stands there, unmoving, ray gun at its side, as Frank staggers forward and plunges the knife into its chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two!! it's a bit of a filler so it's a little shorter, but it should get exciting again soon so stick with me! Also, I know I've messed around the character's ages a bit to make it fit, so sorry if that annoys anyone. See you guys soon, hope you enjoy ~

“Fuck”. 

Frank winces as he pokes at the shiny pink scabs on his leg; it’s a hell of a lot better than it was, sure, but the thing still hurts like a motherfucker, and he’s gonna have some wicked scars to show for his first Drac kill. In a weird way he’s pretty proud of himself - he’s made a real, tangible difference, a contribution to the fight, and he’s got the battle scars to prove it. 

When he’d taken the thing down he hadn’t felt proud though - he strains to remember the aftermath of the fight but still can’t recall much other than an overwhelming sense of pity and a pair of blank eyes that blazed with sudden life and gratitude for a fraction of a second, before closing to the world for good. 

He hadn’t told the others about that - he didn’t quite know why.

Sandman had told him that after he stabbed the Drac he’d passed out - pretty embarrassing, especially in front of Declan. The kid would never let him forget it. Still, the two had dragged him back to where they lived in a small damp basement and treated his leg, which had been well and truly fucked. 

He takes a moment to congratulate himself on his excellent choice of friends - out of everyone he’d decided to pal up with a medic who sold off spare supplies. 

Sandman had patched him up and even insisted on treating him with a tube of burn cream under his bandages, which was worth like, a month of food - Frank’s mouth had fallen open when he’d woken up after two days (!!) in a makeshift bed on the ground to the short man leaning over him and slathering it on generously. Declan had buzzed around the entire time, fussing over Frank's blankets and donating a disgusting pillow which looked suspiciously like it had been used as a tissue for the kids nose - but Frank had been touched by the gesture all the same. 

His gratitude to the pair had swiftly disappeared however, when Sandman had bustled over to check his temperature for the millionth time that day and announced that he wasn’t to move for at least a fortnight, to give the new skin growing on his thigh time to heal. He’d complained and fretted for a while over how he was going to get enough tradables together to pay the pretty hefty price for the equipment he needed from Benzedrine - who had apparently been notified about his being out of action and was holding the stuff until he was better. 

Sandman had insisted though, and so Frank resigned himself to sitting still and listening to Declan rave about him, whenever he wasn’t off doing god knows what; apparently, having seen his “badass ninja skills” in action, the kid had adopted him as his new hero and promptly decided that he would give Frank a daily blow by blow account of the fight, with each retelling making him more and more courageous and strong. 

Today though, is his last day in confinement, and he listens almost cheerfully to this afternoon’s dramatic reproduction of Frankie vs the Drac. 

 

“....and it was like ‘POW’!’, and it fried your leg man, just BAM, got it and it was so gross Frankie, wasn’t it gross Dad? It was like all red and oozy and it had little black bits like when I hold bits of meat too close to the fire. And it was smelly too, but you always are a little bit smelly Frankie, no offence. But anyway, even though your leg was hurted you just got right up and span right round and didn’t even fall down and BANG you just got it right in the heart, you got it Frankie!! You killed it dead and you saved me and my Dad, you’re the best. I wanna be just like you when I get big!” 

Frank shakes his head and pokes at Declan. “No way kid, you wanna be like your dad over there. See, look at my leg - I wouldn’t even be alive if it wasn’t for him, that Drac would have got me after all!”

Sandman gives Frank a soft smile and comes over from the opposite corner of the basement, which holds all his medical stuff. 

“Maybe you can be both Dec. Just gotta keep practicing, right?”. 

Declan’s little face brightens at this new idea, and he scuttles off to work on his punches and kicks into the air. 

Frank and Sandman watch him for a while, chuckling when he trips himself up, before Sandman turns to him and says quietly, 

“I know I said it was safe for you to go today, but I still really think you shouldn’t. I’ve been thinking, maybe you should just stay here with us. Dec loves you and this place is good shelter, and you know, I could do with some help selling supplies while I patch people up.”

Frank’s mind goes utterly blank and he opens and shuts his mouth silently, staring at his oldest (and only) friend. It only serves to encourage Sandman, who continues in a stronger voice. 

“Look, I get why you want to make this big statement against BLI, I really do. I want to show them what we’re made of too, but what difference do you really think it’ll make? Even if you make it far enough to actually carry out this plan of yours, you’re probably going to get caught and I don’t even want to think about what they’ll do to you Frank. They won’t just let something like this go.” 

Frank can feel his heart squeeze in his chest. It’s the dream. Living in a solid structure with people who care about him, holding down a steady source of food and supplies, guaranteed company and all the safety you can get - he wants it. He wants it bad. He looks right into Sandman’s pleading, hopeful expression and the sensible part of his brain screams at him to accept, just accept already.

But he can’t. He swallows the sudden excitement in his stomach and steels himself. As much as he wants that with all that he is he has his plan, and it’s not something that he can give up on. More than he wants to live out his days in contentment, he wants, needs to do something, to make a difference, however small. It’s who he is - like with all his little night-time graffiti sessions, he’s never been one to sit back and let life roll on by. 

Still, he avoids Sandman’s eyes when he answers. 

“Sandman, I want to. I want to so bad, you know i do. I love you guys more than anything else in this fucked up city,” Frank gulps and swipes at his eyes. “But I can’t give up on this. I need to do it. I’m sorry Sandman, I just have to.” 

He risks a peek up at his friends face and sees the resignation in it. 

“Yeah Frankie, I know. I wish you wouldn’t still, but.. Just come back to us okay? The offer still stands, when you’ve done what you need to do.” 

Frank nods, and bumps shoulders with Sandman. 

“Thankyou. I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” Frank pulls away and grins, and his friend’s answering eye roll lightens the mood. 

“Besides, nothing can take me down. I’m the biggest baddest punk in the whole damn City, isn’t that right Dec?” He raises his voice and opens his arms for the six year old body that comes hurtling across the small space. 

“You are Frankie, but not for long! I’m gonna be the best soon you know.” Declan looks stern, but shoves happily in between Frank and his dad. 

Sandman laughs, and pushes his son back out. “Maybe one day buddy. Hey, don’t you have something for Frank?” 

Declan gasps and leaps away again, rummaging through a pile of old blankets in his own corner of the basement while Frank directs a suspicious look at Sandman, who blinks innocently. 

His attention goes back Declan when the kid approaches him shyly with his hands behind his back, which is so unlike him Frank has to chuckle, and dumps an old pillowcase next to him which makes a clatter as it hits the floor. 

He looks up at Declan from his spot on the floor for approval before he reaches for the makeshift bag, balancing it carefully on his lap so it doesn’t weigh against his bad leg too much. He peers in and gasps, looking back up at the kid. 

The bag is full of tradables and useful bits and bobs - pieces of tech, cans of rare food, mismatched gloves with a roll of twine and even a few batteries alongside two pocket knives and a torch nestled among warm blankets and a couple of cosy shirts.

It’s an absolute fortune in the slums, more than Frank has ever seen in one go. 

“Declan, where did you get all of this stuff from?” Frank’s jaw is pretty much on the floor, and he can’t stop staring at the scrawny little city rat who was beaming proudly in front of him. 

“I found some of it Frankie. Some of it was just around and I swiped some off the market stalls, but I’ve been practicing my pickpocket skills like Uncle Benz taught me,” Declan is clearly very pleased with himself and starts sorting through the stuff on his lap as he continues talking.

“I know about your plan and that you hafta buy some stuff off of Uncle Benz so I got it all for you Frankie, since your leg was poorly and all. Dad helped and Ruby helped too, and Uncle Afro gave her this to give to me!” Declan pulls a silver metal rectangle from the bottom of the bag that Frank had skimmed over on his first look, and hands it to him. 

He turns it over a couple of times before realising with a start what it is - a harmonica, old and a little battered but clearly well cared for, and as illegal as parading butt naked past the mayor’s house dipped in paint and glitter.

Even Sandman gasps, and accepts the instrument reverently when Frank offerers it to him, gazing quietly at it before putting it to his lips and sounding one clear, crisp note. 

The sound goes straight to Frank’s heart and it sings along. His whole body seems to vibrate in response to the music, it seeps into his skin and races around his brain, making him shiver with delight. 

It’s the first note of music Frank has heard in eighteen years - ever since BLI took power. 

Looking across at Sandman and Declan their wonder filled faces tell him that they are having similar reactions, and all three of them look at each other in awe, enjoying the euphoria. It hits Frank that this is probably the first time in Declan’s short life that he has ever heard music, and the thought makes him choke up a little.

“Dec.. I don’t know what to say,” Frank’s voice comes out in a whisper, and still seems harsh in the ringing silence left after the note fades away. 

Declan ducks his head and tucks shyly into his dad’s side, muttering back at him, but Frank doesn’t hear any of it - besides this tiny little child having given him music, Declan had also scavenged the city so hard and so well that he now has more than enough to pay Benzedrine five times over, with stuff to spare. 

Even with his bad leg, (which is definitely better - but maybe not quite as pain-free as he told Sandman) Frank feels good about his plan. He’s gonna scream a big fuck you to BLI, maybe even take some of the pigs down, and spread some colour, and then come back here to this little basement under the streets of the slums with the two people who he has adopted as his own. 

He looks back up at Sandman and Declan and when Dec pipes, “Frankie, you should stay here tonight! We’ll have a feast and play the harmononica, and then you can go away in the morning!” He pulls a pleading face when Frank starts to shake his head, jutting out his lower lip and flashing wide - eyed browns at him. 

“Come on Frankie it’ll be fun, I pinkie swear,” Frank’s admittedly weak resolve crumbles and he squeezes Dec’s tiny, soft little finger with his own calloused one, careful not to crush it. 

“Okay little monkey, I’ll stay here tonight,” he replies, shooting a glance at Sandman who is wearing an expression of smug glee identical to his son’s. 

“But I’m going in the morning, okay?” Dec nods and bounds away, picking through the small pile of cans to find something worthy of such a feast, while Sandman pulls out three battered spoons and three rusty tins, pouring water carefully into the tins from a big plastic bottle that was surrounded by a cluster of smaller ones. 

The three build themselves a cosy nest of blankets and old shirts before they eat, and nestle in together to munch away on a veritable banquet of meat chunks and tomato soup, along with some pineapple chunks that Sandman had been saving for a special occasion, (“after all,” he had said as he attacked the tin with the knife Frank had used to stab the Drac, “We’re celebrating you becoming part of our family too!”) and even split a fresh apple that Declan produces from a pocket. 

As he exclaims over how clever he was to get it as he munches on the juicy fruit, Frank makes a mental note to keep a careful eye on his pockets whenever he’s around Declan - much as he loves him, the kid is way too good at pickpocketing. 

After they’ve licked the last drops of sticky juice from their chins, Frank nestles in with Declan to listen to Sandman as he plays the harmonica - he’s vaguely surprised somewhere in the back of his mind that he knows how to play it, but the guy looks so happy and at ease handling the instrument that he doesn’t let it puzzle him for long. Instead he allows the quiet music to wash over him, sinking into the highs and lows and twists and turns of a long forgotten tune that resonated around the small space, low enough not to be heard outside - that would be too dangerous by far. 

They fall asleep like that, a tangle of limbs in a pile of blankets drifting away to the sound of music before Sandman too lets his eyes shut, and for the first time in a long time Frank falls asleep warm, with a full belly, surrounded by the light snores and twitches of people he loves with a content smile on his face and a positive feeling about the future. 

He thinks, on the edge of sleep, that nothing can possibly happen to ruin this. 

~*~*~

Frank wakes up with a stiff neck and a sore leg when the first light of the day peeps through the windows at the very top of the basement, and grimaces when Declan’s gross morning breath fans warm across his face. 

Even so, he lies still for a few minutes, soaking up the domestic feeling before he disentangles his limbs, drags himself out of the makeshift bed and starts to gather up his stuff quietly (which has somehow managed to be scattered across the basement in his two weeks there). He dithers for a while over the harmonica, looking between it and the father and son sleeping together. Remembering the look on Sandman’s face as he held the instrument to his lips, the natural way he had molded himself to it easy as breathing, and the way Declan had, for once, sat unfidgeting as he listened with rapt attention, he places it gently down next to Sandman. 

The little clank the cool metal makes as hits the floor wakes Sandman, and the man turns towards Frank with a sleepy look and fluffy brown bedhead run through with rich strawberry blonde tones. 

“Are you leaving already?” Sandman’s soft voice penetrates the quiet morning air as he heaves himself to his feet, blinking at Frank. 

The spark of domesticity flares again in Frank’s stomach at the sight, and he nods wordlessly before finding his voice. “Yeah. I didn’t want to disturb you guys, sorry. I want to get out of the slums while the zombies are on their way to work so I can get through the houses while there aren’t as many Dracs around.” 

Sandman just meets his eyes and nods, before glancing down at Declan who is still snuffling sleepily into a blanket.

“He’d be upset if you didn’t say goodbye to him you know. He loves you”

Frank smiles at the little figure on the ground, and replies, “I know. I love him too. He’s a great kid.” 

Sandman just nods his agreement and watches as Frank kneels down and gathers up the sleep-warm body, holding Declan close and feeling his slow, steady heartbeat against his chest. He mutters a, “Love you little monkey,” into his ear and feels his heart constrict when his ears just catch a drowsy “L’you too Frankie”. 

Frank clutches Declan close for just a second longer before settling him back down and turning back to Sandman, swallowing the lump in his throat; he’d known it would be hard to say goodbye, but he hadn’t realised the extent of his affection before. He loves Declan like he’s his own kid, and Sandman like the brother he never had. 

The two look at each other for a long moment before crashing together in a tight hug, care and love buzzing between them along with worry and tension. For all his jokes and brush offs Frank knows how dangerous this plan of his is, and he knows that Sandman knows it too. There’s a very real possibility that he won’t come back, even if he’s pretty confident - he’s got everything planned down to a T. 

They stand together for a long minute before Sandman pulls away with red rimmed eyes. 

“Come back to us okay Frankie? You promise me, right now,” he’s clearly giving Frank his fiercest expression, frowning while he shrugs on his backpack, now full of stuff with Declan’s additions, and a thick extra shirt to keep him warm in the cool morning. 

“I promise Sandman. I’ll be back here getting under your feet in no time, you’ll see,” Frank clasps his friends hand and tries to look brave. 

Sandman leads him over to the steps up to the door, and stops at the bottom to crush him once more in a tight, vicious hug before almost pushing him up the stairs. Frank turns and scans the little room one more time, taking in the medical supplies and makeshift bed holding a little sleeping body, and “kitchen” full of water and food cans, and Sandman at the bottom of the steps, baby blues blazing with unadulterated emotion.

The pairs eyes meet one more time and Frank nods, swallowing the lump in his throat with little success, turning. 

As he reaches the last step and puts a hand on the door, he freezes when Sandman’s voice rings out once more, strong and firm. 

“Patrick. My name is Patrick.” 

~*~*~

Frank walks with his air making little puffy clouds in the cold air until the drab grey buildings give way to whiter and cleaner structures with the occasional imperfection, signalling that he was coming to the very edges of the slums and beginning to enter Battery CIty in earnest, and then stops to eat a small piece of bread and sip at his water bottle

He tucks himself into the shadows and keeps a sharp ear out as he eats; Dracs patrol these areas to ‘ensure the safety of all Battery City citizens’, along with their smarter, uglier, and altogether more dangerous cousins - Scarecrows.

Yeah fuckin’ right, he thinks, watching an ant scurry across the ground with a breadcrumb he’d dropped. The things are sent out to make sure that no one is breaking any rules, and to keep an eye out for any ‘illegal items’ - anything colourful or musical. 

It gives him a smug sense of victory to think that some of the mindless soldiers have to waste their time cleaning up his graffiti on the edges of the city. He likes to imagine that maybe it gives the chance for other people to slip by unnoticed while BLI’s attention is diverted - his own little contribution, besides spreading colour. 

The plan he has now though, will blow all that out of the water. It might even be the biggest single attack on BLI from inside the city since the Helium Wars, and they aren’t even in living memory anymore. 

He has it all mapped out: he’s gonna keep his head down and make it across the city to the eastside, preferably unnoticed by BLI agents of any kind. 

He’s gonna get the stuff he needs from Benzedrine and crash at the club for a few nights, hopefully picking up some info on the movements of patrols, and BLI officials through the city. 

Then, he’s gonna head west again, and north, to the very heart of Battery City, where the stark white buildings are tallest and all the most important people in BLI work; pill production, medical testing, education institutes and management buildings. 

Frank notices a smudged white piece of paper fluttering under a garbage bin, and shifts to pull it out. 

The stark black words backed only by white read “Keep smiling citizens. We are working towards a Better Tomorrow. Remember: The Aftermath is Secondary” The only other thing on the paper was a creepy fucking smiley face in black that seems to stare up at Frank from the page. 

Shivering, he crushes the paper in his hand and lets it fall to the ground, the ever-present anger inside him flaring up at the all too familiar words and logo of Better Living Industries. His resolve only tightens at the blatant lies, and as he gets back to his feet to continue towards the eastside, he smiles grimly to himself and says the words out loud as the reality of his plan really hits him. 

He’s doing it for his parents, for the city rats, and all the pill popping zombies who aren’t even alive enough to notice their lives ticking by. He’s doing it for the Dracs who are already as good as dead, the people they once were lost to BLI forever, forced to fight for the company that stripped away their chances at life. He’s doing it for the rebels he knows live in the desert outside the city walls, fighting everyday to bring the company down. He’s doing it for the bright, cheeky little life that is Declan, in the hopes that one day he’ll be able to live freely, and he’s doing it for Sandman - Patrick, who is the gentlest and kindest soul he’s ever met but still living out on the streets. He’s doing for himself, hoping that one day maybe he’ll be able to get old with someone he loves and have kids who grow up in the light, away from the shadows, unaware of the horrors that go on all around him today. 

“I’m gonna bomb the fucking headquarters.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm very excited about this chapter so it's been written pretty fast compared to the other two - Frank meets up with Benzedrine, and gets his new name. Thanks for reading this far!

Frank makes good time across the housing area of the city, and reaches the tunnels that hide Benzedrine’s main club after only two nights sleeping in clean white alleys surrounded by disturbingly clean white garbage. He’d been incredibly lucky on the way, only running into a couple of Drac patrols daily and skirting round them pretty easily without being spotted. 

There’d been one moment that put his heart in his mouth when he ran almost smack bang into a Scarecrow with a couple of Dracs backing it up; but thank the fucking stars, he’d had the forethought to wear white over the top of his normal clothes and hide his purple and yellow rucksack in a white trashbag. He’d slowed his movements and let his face go slack and expressionless, trying to imitate the zombies he’d around the city, when the three had turned; the Dracs hadn’t even blinked, but he thought he was done for when the Crow had given him a long hard stare while Frank was convinced it could hear his heart beating wildly in panic, before letting him past. 

It had been far too close, and he’d made a point of practicing his zombie expression for the rest of the way just in case it happened again - he’d gotten lucky, but didn’t want to be unprepared again. 

Frank approaches the tunnel that he knows is the first part of getting into the club, at the back of a row of barely used shops, and glances around him before slipping down the back stairs of an empty one. 

In the gloomy backroom, there is an unassuming manhole in a corner, an entrance to the tunnels meant for servicemen to get access to the pipes supplying the shop with water. When the shop shut down though, it became another way into the maze of hidden tunnels under the city for rats and rebels alike to use. 

Frank moves the cover aside and feels for the slimy metal rungs of the ladder, stepping down when he feels them and replacing the lid. He’s been here once or twice before picking up stuff for his bigger graffiti hits, but he still shivers when the light is blocked out and reaches for the torch that Declan had given him. 

Shining the weak light around reveals the walls dripping with water and dirty pools on the floor. There’s more life down here too than on the city streets, which are blank with neatly trimmed drab looking hedges here and there while below the surface moss is everywhere, carpeting the walls and floor - it’s nice, he thinks, shows that even BLI can’t stop nature. 

Frank stumbles a few times as he tries to remember his way through the labyrinth to the entrance of the club; last time he was here Sandman and Declan had been with him visiting ‘Uncle Benz’, and he does admit that he preferred the creepy tunnels when Declan was racing around shrieking and commenting on every puddle and rat skeleton he came across. 

As he gets deeper into the gloomy tunnels Frank gets more and more uneasy, not sure at all if he’s going the right way - everything looks the same down here, and it’s so dark that his torch isn’t even doing much good. His leg isn’t helping either - he needs to get the weight off it, but doesn’t want to stop for fear that he’ll never get going again 

He wanders for a little longer without finding the entrance, and stops at a junction of sorts with the tunnel splitting off in two different directions. He’s been walking for hours and his leg demands a rest, so he plops down to the damp ground, avoiding a suspicious looking yellowish puddle. Rummaging in his bag to find the last of his bread, he goes to place the torch on the ground, but he yelps when it slips from his sweaty hand too high, hits the floor with a nasty crack, and the tunnel plunges back into blackness. 

Frank tries not to panic. He prays to the stars and the gods and the city and anything out there that might listen that the thing isn’t broken - lost in the tunnels with no light will almost certainly mean he never finds his way out, and he’ll die down here in the dark. 

He takes deep breaths through his mouth and tries his absolute hardest to stay calm, forcing his hands to keep steady while he feels blindly around the floor for the torch, making sure to keep one of them holding his rucksack at all times. 

His hand brushes against something soft and warm that moves on contact, and he frightens himself at the yelp that escapes his mouth, sending his heart into overdrive - just a rat, he hears it scurry away. He’s sad to see (or hear) it go, wishing for a second that it would stay to keep him company - at least until he finds his torch. 

He refuses to consider that he might not find it at all. 

In the dark Frank’s ears get sharper and he listens as hard as he can while he feels around for the torch, swearing under his breath, but all that reaches him is dripping and the occasional scrabbling of tiny claws as another rat goes by. He’s completely alone, and he fucking hates it - ever since he was little he’s been surrounded by people and life, free to go wherever he wants, but now in the dark he’s afraid he’ll die all alone without ever seeing the sun again; it’s not hard to imagine that his body will never be found. 

Just as he starts to panic and his breaths are getting shallow and quick, his fingers clasp around the torch - he sighs in relief and flips the switch, but the thing just flickers and dies. 

Frank’s heart stops and his breath cuts off altogether - in the split second of light he could have sworn he saw a figure standing stock still at the other end of the tunnel. 

His heart starts again fast enough to take off, and he scrambles for the fresh batteries in his bag - he’s pretty sure he put them in the front pocket with the zip - hoping against hope that they’ll fix the torch. He’s not bad with his hands in a fight after all the scraps he’s had with other city rats, and he has the knife from the Drac fight in his bag. He’s pretty small too, and light on his feet - enough to duck and weave well enough to avoid most hits. 

His thoughts race as he fumbles with the dead batteries, trying to come up with a strategy - run, hide, fight? - but he finally gets them out of the bottom of the thing and throws them away, barely hearing the clatter over the blood roaring in his ears. 

He gropes for fresh ones in his bag and nearly cries with relief when his fingers brush cool metal straight away, pulls them out and tries to shove two into the torch with violently shaking hands. For all he knows there are countless silent attackers surrounding him and he’s a dead man - not knowing makes it so much worse. 

Finally, finally he gets the damn things into the torch and flips the bottom cap shut. He yanks himself to his feet and secures his rucksack on his back. Taking a deep breath Frank tenses his body to fight, or to run, and switches on the torch. 

His mind goes blank with terror when the light illuminates a single figure stood not ten feet away from him, its head in some weird fucking bug eyed contraption and a shiny ray gun in its hands - a gun pointed squarely at Frank’s head. 

Without stopping to think, Frank lets out a yell and dodges to the side, crouching low and charging full pelt to close the distance between him and the - whatever it is, some kind of weird tunnel Drac or something, whatever, it needs to be taken down, tackling it to the ground. A flash of bright light from the gun goes off and races just past his face, a kiss of warmth trailing past his cheek - too fucking close. 

The thing hits the damp ground and Frank manoeuvres himself to land on top of it, wrestling the gun out of its hand (putting the torch on the floor as he does so to keep both his hands free) and dodging a punch to the gut, before pinning its arms above its head and sitting on its stomach. The body underneath him thrashes and twists, trying to get out of his hold while muffled screams and pleading noises come from behind the mask. 

It goes stock still, however, when Frank cocks the raygun and pushes it into the things neck. 

From his position he can feel the things heart thudding frantically underneath him, which makes him pause for a second - he didn’t think Dracs hearts could do that, some city rat on the market had told him once that the pills they took kept their bodies in a perfect state with a steady heartbeat and minimal perspiration. 

Come to think of it, actually, he can see dark marks in patches seeping through the shirt the thing is wearing, and - yep, he can definitely smell sweat hanging in the air and it isn’t just him. 

Maybe the thing isn’t a Drac? 

Half convinced that it’s some kind of trap and keeping the gun pressed into the soft flesh of its neck, Frank slowly lets go of the things arms to take hold of the edge of the mask. He’s surprised when it leaves them above its head and tilts its chin, compliant. 

Cautiously, he pushes the mask up to the things forehead, revealing a face inch by inch - a square jaw covered by dark subble, a mouth set in a grim line, a strong nose, and whiskey eyes run through with gold in the muted torchlig- 

Fuck. 

Fuuuuuuuuck. 

It’s fucking Benzedrine.  
Frank’s knees go weak with relief at the fact that he’s not being attacked by some nightmare creature that BLI whipped up to roam the belly of the City, at the same time he mentally slaps himself for holding a gun to very possibly the most important figurehead of the inner city rebellion. 

Stunned, it’s all he can do to stare down wordlessly at Benzedrine’s solemn expression from atop his chest, his arms still held above his head, cheeks flushed with exertion. For a second he’s terrified that Benz is gonna kill him anyway - it’s been a while, the guy might not recognise him, and besides, he probably looks like some kind of double agent for BLI. As he watches though, the familiar face lifts slowly into a shiteating grin, and the golden eyes take on a mischievous glint.

“Enjoying the view are we Frank?” 

He shifts and moves an arm to make a sweeping gesture down their bodies, with Frank still breathing hard and leant over him, sat on his torso. 

Frank swears he feels every drop of blood in his body rush to his cheeks, making them burn brightly enough to light up the whole damn tunnel as he scrambles to get off Benzedrine, offering him a hand and yanking him upright.

“I was just - I thought - you looked like a - the mask!” 

Frank stutters and trips over trying to explain himself, but gives up when Benzedrine just lets out a deep, booming laugh that bounces off the tunnel walls and claps him on the back, almost sending him flying. 

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it Frank,” his grin is infectious, and Frank can’t help but relax. 

“I think we’re pretty much even anyhow - you tried to kill me, I nearly shot you. Let’s call it quits yeah?” Benzedrine slings an arm over Frank’s shoulders and starts steering him back the way he’d come, grabbing the torch on the way. 

“Yeah hey, why did you sneak up on me like that anyway? You nearly gave me a damn heart attack, punk,” Frank pokes Benz in the ribs and ducks away from the answering hand that shoots out to ruffle his hair. 

Benz looks indignant as he replies, “I was looking for you, idiot! My little birds told me that you’d gotten into the tunnels but when you didn’t show up I figured you were lost, so I decided to come looking for my favourite little graffiti guy.” 

Frank freezes, turns to look him dead in the eye, and feels his mouth fall open. 

“You motherfucker! If you knew it was me why the fuck were you pointing your damn gun at me? Dude, you shot at me!” 

Benzedrine has the good grace to look guilty when he answers, “Well, I had my night goggles on so I could look for you right - hey, you’ll have to take at look at them, we have this great kid who’s joined since you were last here, he’s like a wizard with tech, you’ll have to meet him. Look, these things let you see in the dark!” 

He’s talking suspiciously fast and Frank smells a distraction technique. Despite himself though, he’s intrigued by the goggles, and accepts them as they’re being shoved into his face, promising himself that he’ll take a look later. He loves tech and really wants to know how something like that would work - he doesn’t think even BLI have come up with anything like it yet. 

Right now though, he gives Benzedrine a stern look and says, “Yeah Benz, that’s great. But let’s get back to why you fucking shot at me.”

He gets a sheepish grin flashed in his direction. 

“Okay Frank, I’ll level with ya. I could see that you were blind and I just thought I’d have a little fun with you, you know? With this crazy bombing plan of yours I was interested to see what you’d do,” he looks up at Frank from under his eyelashes. 

“I didn’t mean to shoot at you, I swear! But you surprised me when you just charged me like that dude, it was instinct! I’m sorry Frank, really. But you were impressive man, seriously, there’s not many city rats could get me on my back like that. In either sense of the phrase” He wiggles his eyebrows and leers at Frank. 

It’s actually a pretty big compliment coming from Benzedrine, but he tries not to let his pride show on his face and instead glares at the older man. 

“Whatever Benz, just take me inside will you? I’ll consider forgiving you once you’ve served me your nicest food and waited on me hand and foot,” he lifts his nose in the air and storms ahead of Benzedrine, losing his dignity a little when he trips over a loose pipe. 

He hears Benz snort behind him, and then a voice rings out, bouncing off the tunnel walls. 

“Hey, whatever gets you going sugar. You might want to come on in though, unless you fancy wandering round in the tunnels again. You know, whatever you feel like.” 

Frank stops dead and turns to see Benzedrine leaning on a drier patch of wall, blinking innocently at him, and sticks his tongue out. 

Childish maybe, but it feels goddamn good. 

He stomps right on back just in time to see Benz fiddling with some of the endless moss on the wall, patting it into place as the concrete seems to sink in on itself slide sideways, revealing an iron door with a keypad and a scanner - Benzedrine scans his thumb and then types a long code in, eventually pushing the door back and stepping aside to beckon Frank inside.  
For a moment he gets wrapped up in how secretive and cool the whole thing is - he’d gone in through the main club entrance with the bouncers before, but this was like the movies about spies and secret agents he remembers watching as a little kid, pre - BLI. 

Still lost in his own little world of espionage he steps through the door, vaguely registering it slamming shut when Benzedrine comes in behind him, and lets out a little sigh that he hadn’t known he was holding. 

They’d entered a brightly lit hallway with new doors opening off of it, the walls painted in an explosion of colour with beautiful murals swirling and reaching, mixing into each other in a beautiful picture that hurts Frank’s eyes and wipes all the tension from his shoulders.

It’s like coming home. 

He walks in step with Benzedrine who is happily chattering away as they make their way to the end of the hallway into the similarly decorated main club area, quiet now in the middle of the day but with a few people scattered around the squishy, comfy sofas or propped up against the bar. 

He vaguely recognises a few of them from his previous visits, but it’s mostly new faces that turn when he walks in flanked by Benzedrine.

A few people get up and wander over to the bar when they stop there, Benzedrine slipping behind the counter to make up a couple of drinks. 

A ridiculously tall guy who Frank remembers is named Cobra comes right up to him and sweeps him up into a bone-crushing hug, squeezing all the breath out of him before dumping him unceremoniously back onto the barstool. 

Cobra lets out a deep belly laugh when Frank is too slow to compose his face and booms, “Awh poor old Frank, not used to hugs out on the streets little rat?” 

He just laughs and shakes his head - Cobra had been the first person he’d met when he came here the first time, and the guy’s insisted on taking him under his wing on every visit since. He’s a good man but absolutely fucking insane; he regularly tells Frank about the time he’d had a vision of the Cobra which he named himself after telling him to start a band. It’s the reason he got off the pills and found the club, and now he regularly sings with his band here. 

“Nah, just not used to weirdo giants assaulting me as soon as I walk in,” he replies, shaking Cobra’s hand. 

“Whatever little dude, it’s not my fault I’m not a munchkin like the rest of you,” he says, just as Benzedrine slides a shocking pink drink with a bright green umbrella in it towards Frank, grumbling, “Hey hey, less of the munchkin punk. Me and Frank over here, we’re just putting our energy into having brains instead. I mean, who has a vision of a Cobra man? You’re a freak.”  
“Watch it Benzedrine, don’t diss the Cobra. She’ll come for you.” Cobra looks serenely confident as he speaks, but Frank secretly agrees with Benzedrine on this one - he’s wondered before if BLI had been giving him dodgy pills or something. Even still, he feels welcome and happy surrounded by colour and chatter, listening idly to the friendly banter between the two. 

Everyone that comes to these clubs either to join in with the rebellion run out of them or just to let off some steam, still live as compliant Battery City citizens, with Company mandated apartments, jobs, and pills. They all are undercover as far as anyone knows, and BLI are unaware of the fact that so many people are defying them and fighting from within. 

They all do their bit as far as Frank can tell - most go to BLI pharmacies as often as they can get away with, complaining of various ailments and bringing back painkillers, antibiotics and sleeping pills regularly to the clubs, along with a constant supply of the standard zombie-fying pills, which can apparently be useful for interrogation due to the forced truth element that’s built into them; not that he would know. People coming into the club pay for entrance and drinks with pills, food, tech, or anything else they can get their hands on and as a result Benzedrine, with his chain of clubs across the underbelly of the City, has a bigger supply of useful stuff than anyone else besides BLI officials. He’s the one to go to when you need something you can’t get for yourself, but only a lucky few have the contacts to get to him - the guy is pretty careful about security and only trusts an inner circle in his clubs, one or two of his desert contacts and a few rats, including Sandman. 

Patrick had told him once that he and Benzedrine had lived together until a couple of years before Declan was born, and Frank had gotten the feeling that there was more there than he’d let on - he got the impression that the two had been together, but something went wrong and they went their separate ways. They’ve clearly made up though, he thinks, because they communicate regularly, and Benz adores Declan - Sandman’s made the dangerous journey with his son a few times to stay here for weeks on end. 

Frank is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears his name. 

“...and Frank here, he just fucking charges at me right, gets my gun off me and sits on me, with the damn thing shoved into my neck!!” 

Benz has attracted the attention of most of the room with his story, and they all shake with laughter at their leader being so utterly defeated. When he finishes it up with a flourish they disperse back around, Cobra with them, and Benzedrine turns back to him with a cheerful expression. 

“So,” he says, sipping on his own drink, which is coloured an alarming shade of blue. “I have all the stuff you asked me for. Some of it was pretty hard to get you know - you got a watch coming at you straight from the sands, man.” 

Shit. Benz has got him stuff from the desert - that’s a big deal in the city, especially for a rat like him. It’s gonna cost him though; ferrying stuff from the desert surrounding Battery City to the inside is dangerous work, and the guys and girls that do it charge big bucks.

Frank braces himself before asking, “Okay Benz, just get it over with. What’s the damage?” 

“Well Frankie”, Benzedrine replies from atop his barstool, drink in hand, with that mischievous twinkle back in his eyes. “I heard what you did for Sandman and Declan, man. That was pretty badass of you.” 

Frank is nervous about how much he owes and in no mood for Benzedrine’s games right now, no matter how many compliments he gets out of it. He nods tersely and waits for him to continue. 

Benz’s face takes on a more serious, earnest expression, and weirdly, Frank thinks he sees nerves in the man’s face when he speaks again. “I love those two little dudes Frank, and you saved their lives. The bomb stuff is yours, as is anything else you want. All I want back from you is your word that you’ll keep them safe, even though I can’t. Please, Frank. Sandman won’t stay here with me and I can’t go out to the slums - but you can look out for them. What do you say?” 

Frank seriously doubts his ability to say anything at all. Free equipment for the rest of his life, a friend in the most powerful free man in Battery City - and all he has to do is stick with his two favourite people in the world? Looking after Patrick and Declan, it’s something he would have done anyway; but now, in exchange, he can live out his days in the slums without ever having to go hungry or fight over a mouldy bit of bread again. His bleak, monotonous life can be flipped just like that, into a tapestry of colour, on the word of the man sat in front of him with kind brown eyes, surrounded by laughter lines. 

“Frank? Do I have your word?” 

Bemzedrine’s voice reaches his ears, and Frank realises he has been staring with his mouth open for a good few minutes now. He scrambles for something to say, and says the first coherent sentence that pops into his head.

“Dude, he’s like, an inch shorter than you.”

Benzedrine blinks in shock and then lets out a peal of laughter, throwing back his head to reveal sharp white teeth, and it’s so infectious that Frank joins in after a beat. People start to stare when neither of them stop laughing, and it gets to the point where it’s a little hysterical, on both sides - Frank and Benzedrine are clutching at each other, tears pouring down their faces, and he positively howls at Benz’s shocked expression when he laughs himself off his barstool and hits the cold ground. 

Frank chokes through his tears and manages to get some words out, “Of - of course Benz. I’ll look after them man, you know I will.”  
Benzedrine beams bright enough to rival the colours on the wall, and clambers back to his feet to plant a sloppy, smacking kiss dead on his cheek. Frank squeals and jumps away, swiping with one hand at the offending cheek and swatting at Benz with the other. He hears a loud wolf whistle that sounds suspiciously like Cobra, and decides to ignore it for now. 

“Gross, dude, what the fuck?!” 

“Frankie, my man, you are my hero,” Benzedrine’s face looks ready to split in two with the strength of his grin, and he raises his voice. “Yo, everyone, get over here. I reckon Frank here just about earned himself a name. Who has a suggestion?” 

People immediately begin to flock around Frank, who has a funny tight feeling in his gut. Name givings are uncommon if not all that rare anymore, and everyone wants to have the chance of leaving a lasting impression; he’s sure people have been coming in while he’s been talking too, because the big space is at least half full now. He’s a little overwhelmed by all the suggestions that are soon being yelled out - he’s never even considered giving himself a codename before, but here he is. 

“Flaming Rose!” 

“Black Widower!” 

“Silence Killer!” 

All the names being called out are alright, but none stand out. If he’s gonna get a new name it’s gotta mean something - half of the ideas are too elegant for him and the other half too forgettable. He shakes his head again and again until Benzedrine glares around the room and declares that he is very disappointed in them all, and turns to Frank with yet another shiteating grin and says, “Hey dude, didn’t you tell me once you’re part Italian?” 

Frank nods, unsure where this is going. 

“Well then, I think I just came up with your name,” Benzedrine looks around him to make sure everyone’s attention is on him before continuing. “I myself know a few words of Italian and, based on your personality and unique charms Frankie-boy, you should be called Vaffanculo!” He sweeps his arms with a flourish, clearly waiting for Frank to gasp and tell him what a good idea that is. 

As it is he grins and considers it while Benz explains tp the others that it means 'fuck you' in Italian and is therefore 'perfect for a little shit like Frank', but it’s still not quite right - too hard to pronounce properly, and the meaning would probably be lost on most people. He plays with the word, letting it roll off his tongue a few times. 

“Vaffanculo … Va fan gulo … the fan gulo … No,” he shakes his head and thinks it through a little harder. 

“The fan gool … the fun … The Fun Ghoul!!” 

Yep, he likes the sound of that - he can be Frank, The Fun Ghoul, intimidating and unknown with the just the right amount of mockery to add a little insanity into the mix. That can’t hurt in this world - insane seems to get you places. Plus, he gets the added bonus of saying fuck you in code to everyone he introduces himself to; he likes the sound of that.

“What do you reckon Benz? The Fun Ghoul?” Frank looks to his new friend for confirmation that he’s picked out a kick ass name, but feels his face fall when he sees that Benzedrine is frowning at him. 

“Do you not like it?” He asks. 

“No no,” Benzedrine wipes the frown off his face and gives Frank an encouraging smile instead. “I love it, it’s perfect for you. I just think it needs a little bit of a tweak, you know…,” he snaps his fingers. 

“Got it!! Drop the ‘the’. Fun Ghoul, that’s you man, plain and simple.” 

“Fun Ghoul,” Frank tries it out, tasting the way it feels in his mouth. “Yeah, yeah I like it. I’m Fun Ghoul.” 

Benzedrine claps him on the back and Cobra materialises at his side to lift his hand high into the air, yelling out across the room, “Ladies and gentlepunks, I present to you for the very first time; Fun Ghoul!” 

A deafening cheer goes up and Frank - Fun Ghoul - finds himself ripped away from Benzedrine and Cobra, being congratulated on all sides and pulled into more hugs than he thinks he’s had in the rest of his life put together. Someone puts on some music that booms through the club, loud and hard and fast with a thudding bass that goes straight to his bones. Someone else shoves another drink in his hand and he sips at it without looking as more and more people come to talk to him, yelling now over the noise.

It seems like only minutes before the lights go down and Cobra appears on the stage at the opposite end of the club to the bar, backed up by his band, and starts screaming into a microphone, throwing himself around. The live music sends a jolt of electricity through the room and Frank finds himself being dragged towards the stage by the hand by a girl he met five minutes ago - he shrugs and goes with it, throwing himself into the crowd and letting the music wash over him. 

He dances and headbangs with more people than he can count, only extricating himself from the ravers at the front every now and again to get another drink, until Cobra announces that this is the last song of the night, and he feels the day he’s had finally catch up to him. He leaves the crowd, suddenly exhausted, and goes to find Benzedrine. 

The song has finished and the hordes of people mostly dispersed by the time he finds him lounging on the bar chatting to some tall, skinny, blonde guy that looks vaguely familiar, and he goes up to smush his face into the tan neck. 

“Benz, wanna go’t beeeeddd,” he whines. Somewhere in a deep corner of his mind Frank knows he’s drunk, and making a fool of himself, but he doesn’t care. He removes his face to look up at Benzedrine’s amused expression, and frowns. 

“Fun Ghoul, do you think you maybe had a few too many drinks? You seem a little out of it my friend.” 

Frank starts to protest, but then he hiccups and has to grab the bar because it makes the floor tilt. 

“Maybe juss a few,” he admits. 

“I thought so. Here, I’ll take you to your room. But first, I did say I’d introduce you - Fun Ghoul, this is Kobra Kid, Kobra, Ghoul. Ghoul, Kobra is the one who designed those night-vision goggles I showed you, remember?” 

Frank squints up at the guy, who twitches an eyebrow at him and holds out his hand. 

“Oh yeeeaahh, I wanna talk to you ‘bout that dude, you’re a wizard, maybe my faaaavourite - after Benz,” he slaps Kobra’s hand, realising too late that the guy was going for a handshake, but not finding it in himself to care - he made the guy laugh, at least. 

He stumbles back into Benzedrine who grabs his arm and begins to steer him away, saying, “Sure Ghoul, maybe you guys can talk tech tomorrow, but right now I’m gonna take you to your room, okay? Sound good?” 

Frank nods sleepily, feeling the way his eyes are drooping, and allows himself to be guided away by strong arms, vaguely registering the “See you later, Kobra,” that Benz throws over his shoulder. 

He blinks, and then he and Benzedrine are standing in a small room with a couple of boxes and a bed in it - his eyes go tunnel vision on him and he stumbles for the bed, ignoring the buzzing in his ears that he thinks might be Benzedrine trying to talk to him. 

He clambers into the bed fully clothed, kicking off his shoes, and the cool sheets feel like heaven against his sweaty skin. He waves a hand in Benz’s direction, where he is still hovering by the door, saying words that are far too long for him to understand in his current state. He snuggles deeper into the warm duvet and mumbles “Na night Benzie,” hearing a chuckle and a door click shut a second later. 

Tired out and happy, safe in the warm dark, Frank begins to fall asleep immediately. His last thought through the fog in his brain before he’s out for the night is of his new name: Fun Ghoul.  
He thinks he’s gonna like it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for another filler chapter, but there are some new characters in this one..any guesses at who's who? (It's not too hard, because I am extremely unoriginal with names)

Frank wakes up in an actual, honest to god bed, convinced that he’s dying. There seems to be a Drac inside his head with a sledgehammer, going to town on his poor brains, and it hurts like a motherfucker. He groans out loud and pulls the covers all the way over his head, ignoring the way it makes his stomach turn in the hopes that he can go back to sleep, or sink into the sweet nothingness of death - either would be preferable to this, really.

It’s far too bright behind his eyelids and there’s far too much noise coming from outside his door, but he supposes it’s probably time to get out of bed and do something productive, judging by the hustle and bustle he can hear out in the hallway. He takes a deep breath in through his mouth (which is as dry as the goddamn desert, what the fuck,) and braces himself, before throwing the blankets away and opening his eyes in one quick movement. 

Bad idea. 

There’s light pouring in through the window on the door and it forces his eyes back closed - he flails around miserably on the mattress for a bit while the room lurches around him, trying to summon up the courage to get out of the bed, to no avail. He’s been beaten up before sure, even had a few broken bones, but he’s pretty sure he’d take a punch to the gut and a broken arm over this killer fucking hangover any day of the week.

He wonders what the chances are of Benzedrine shooting him if he asks real nice. 

Before he can venture too deeply back down the path of requested homicide the door opens, and he groans again as it magnifies both the light and the noise, squinting at this new torture come to torment him. 

Cobra is holding some blurry thing in his hand that Frank eventually identifies as a glass of water as he gets closer, and he briefly considers that the man is an angel sent from heaven to personally save his life. 

It’s a very brief thought, however, because the next thing Cobra does is place the water down on the box closest to the bed along with something else Frank can’t see properly, come right up to him, stick his face next to his ear and yell at the top of his voice, 

“WHAT’S UP FUN GHOUL?!” 

Fireworks go off inside Frank’s head and he screeches, diving for cover back into his blankets and groaning again when he gains enough composure to make a noise without throwing up. He can hear Cobra laughing to himself out in the room, but he just stays inside his little blanket cave when he says,   
“Cobra, you motherfucking punk! What did I ever do to you dickbrain?” Frank tries to sound stern and intimidating, but all that he manages is a weak croak.

He hears Cobra chuckle to himself a few more times before replying cheerfully, “I just couldn’t help myself man, you should see yourself right now - you’re a mess, Ghoul, little people shouldn’t drink as much as you did buddy.”

Frank just growls wordlessly and sticks a hand out from under his blankets, extending a middle finger towards Cobra. He’s way too hungover to deal with this shit. 

“Aw come on Ghoul, I come bearing gifts, look! Glitter Gun came up with these awesome pills, they’ll make you feel better straight away, I swear.” 

Frank peeks his head out from under the covers and sees that Cobra is indeed waving two small white pills in front of his face. He emerges slowly from his blankets and sits up, snatching the medicine from Cobra before he can pull some stunt and run off with them, and reaches for the glass of water still on the box nearest the bed. 

He’s pretty sceptical about the pills - Glitter’s a genius from what he can remember, sure, but even a genius needs more than what can be gotten down here, surely. Still, it’s worth a shot - and he’s like ninety percent sure Cobra wouldn’t poison him as a joke - so he knocks them back, and chugs the whole glass of water, which helps his gross dry mouth no end. 

And - it’s like magic. The foggy pain in his head is blown away in seconds along with the last of the stickiness in his mouth, his stomach untwists itself and relaxes, and the room stops spinning all of a sudden. 

Frank opens his eyes all the way and stares at Cobra, who is leaning against the wall near his head and looking incredibly smug. 

“What did I tell ya little buddy? Like magic, isn’t it?” He pushes himself off the wall and flops down on top of the bed, poking Frank all over when his ridiculous fucking spider-limbs won’t properly fit. 

To be fair, it is kind of like magic - he actually feels better than he did before he got drunk in the first place, and he’s pretty sure some of the ever-present background throb in his leg has melted away too. 

“Yeah okay Cobra, they’re pretty great pills. Remind me to thank Glitter when I see her. Now can I please get up?” He tries in vain to shove the leg that has wound up thrown over his chest away, puffing when Cobra just clamps on and refuses to move. 

“Come on man, I need to talk to Benz! Get your scrawny legs off of me,” he whines, realising his mistake when Cobra just cocks an eyebrow and sets his mouth in a determined line.

“No dice munchkin.”   
Cobra settles himself deeper into the bed, pinning Frank down more securely, and assumes a thoughtful expression that is so clearly put on he wonders if the guy is actually serious. 

“But perhaps..maybe we can to some arrangement, you and I. Whaddya say Ghoul?” Frank is instantly suspicious - he’s learnt the hard way not to trust Cobra’s ‘deals’ - last time he was here he’d lost his best shirt to the guy, and somehow got convinced to occupy a scary looking muscly stranger for a night so Cobra could go get busy with his sister - that one didn’t end too well. 

“What kind of arrangement?” He watches Cobra’s frankly (ha) laughable display at nonchalance, inspecting his nails and holding them up to the light, and waits for him to let it go. 

When he glances to the side and sees Frank’s clearly unconvinced expression, he drops the terrible act and leans closer, curiosity sparking in his eyes as he speaks. 

“Okay Ghoul, I know you’re up to something cause you’re picking some shit up over here and it’s not just fucking paint and stencils, and I wanna know what. If you’re planning something big man, I want in.” 

Frank considers this for a moment, looking at the earnest expression on Cobra’s face. Help wouldn’t hurt really - if he could borrow a couple of radios for the night he could be an early warning system, it would reduce a lot of the risk. On the flipside though, it’d be a lot of responsibility - if Cobra got hurt Frank doesn’t know how he’d live with himself. 

He thinks it over and lets Cobra stew for a while, until he finally gives in and speaks again. 

“Okay, how about this - you want to talk to Benzedrine right? Let me come with, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.” 

Frank snorts when the guy mimes zipping his lips shut, and caves. “Come on then you big fucking ape, let me up and you can come. 

Cobra leaps up straight away and drags Frank with him, barely letting him stop to put some shoes on. His stomach rumbles, and with the sick hangover feeling he realises he’s ravenous. 

“What time is it?” He calls out to Cobra as he trails behind him. 

“Just past lunchtime man, you crashed hard. Benz actually sent me to get you up so you could get some food, goddamn mother hen. Let the drunkard starve, that’s what I said.” 

Frank hears Cobra sniff and rolls his eyes - abuse was his way of being friendly, and the meaner he was the more he liked you, according to Glitter. 

Frank reckons he’s just about his best friend then.   
When Cobra disappears into one of the doors coming off the main hallway at the back of the club, he follows and finds himself in the little living space that the regulars share with the full timers, when they’re not back in their pristine white apartments pretending to be zombies. There are more of the squishy, comfortable sofas that dot the club, a couple of tables filled with clutter, and even a little kitchen area, complete with hot running water and a microwave, since someone had diverted water and electricity supplies for the club from the BLI pipes in the tunnels. He knows that a few doors down is a shower area and an actual toilet - these guys live in motherfucking luxury, and he’s willing to bet that they don’t even realise it. 

Still, he spots Benzedrine sitting with another tall dude who is covered in tattoos and the same weirdly familiar blonde guy as last night (Snake Man? Viper Boy? He can’t remember) and heads over, with Cobra trailing along behind him. He plops himself down next to Benz and nods at the blonde guy, hoping that his name will magically reappear at the front of his mind. 

“Oh hey Fun Ghoul, feeling better? I heard you were a little under the weather this morning” Benz smirks at him, and yelps when he gets a well deserved punch to the arm. 

“Hey come on, I sent Cobra to bring you for food didn’t I?! Here -” he shoves a can of beans and a spoon at Frank, pulling a wounded face. 

Frank ignores him and digs into the food, delighting at the fact that the beans are warm - he could get used to hanging around here, if only Sandman and Declan were here too. He thinks about trying to convince them to come, but gets interrupted by the blonde guy muttering under his breath to Benz and then standing up, displacing the weight of sofa and almost making him spill his beans. 

When he glances up the guy is nodding at the group, but when he lands on him, he pauses and says, “Hey Fun Ghoul, I’m really sorry, I know I said we could talk tech today but I just came in on my lunch break to talk to Benz real quick - I have to get back now or the pigs will be on to me. Maybe I’ll see you around?” 

The guy (Kobra Kid, he suddenly remembers) is so softly spoken that Frank has to strain to hear him - it’s unusual around here, he thinks, to be so gentle. 

He swallows a mouthful of beans quickly and replies “Oh sure yeah, hopefully! Nice to see you again, Kobra.” He nods, the side of his mouth twitching into an almost-smile, and heads for the door; the tattooed guy jumps up and slaps his hand against Cobra’s, before following. 

Steadily munching on his beans Frank notices the way Benzedrine’s eyes crease worriedly as he stares after Kobra Kid, and decides not to comment; if Benz wants to tell him he will, but it’s not his business to ask. 

Cobra isn’t quite as delicate, it seems, and plops himself right down on Benzedrine’s lap - Frank sees the way he shakes his head and plasters on a grin that is just a tiny bit off, and wraps his arms around the taller man before shoving him unceremoniously onto the floor, laughing when he yelps and pouts.

Benz puts on a mock-serious face and pokes him further away with his foot. “Run along and play now Cobra. The big boys have some stuff to talk about now, see if your little snake pal will come out and play with you today.” 

Cobra narrows his eyes and plops himself in the armchair opposite the sofa, and crosses his arms, hissing, “I’m going nowhere punk. Me and Ghoul here, we made a deal; I’m sitting in on your little business meeting.” He sprawls out and waves a hand lazily in their direction. 

“Proceed.”

Banz cocks an eyebrow and shoots a questioning look at Frank, who shrugs and makes a face; once Cobra gets something in his head there’s not a lot anyone can do to stop him, and Benzedrine knows that better than he does. 

With his approval Benz goes right ahead and starts talking logistics; listening idly as he finished his beans Frank is pretty happy that he’s listed everything he needed, and even gotten enough extras that he think’s he might be able to make a bigger hit than he had thought. Cobra listens quietly, as promised, but his mouth opens steadily inch by inch as it becomes clear what the materials are going to make. 

“I have them in secure storage, but if you can guarantee the safety of the building I’ll get them out for you to prep as you need - but I’d rather no one else knew that they were here, just for peace of mind, you understand. When were you planning to hit HQ?” Benz has slipped into his business mode - for all the fun and banter that he encourages at the club, in the daytime it’s the headquarters of the rebellion, and he’s the top dog; and he acts like it. He’s quick as a whip, Frank knows, and has a sharp eye for detail and a good nose for trouble. The club is pretty busy with people coming and going, low conversations buzzing and tradables swapping hands, but he doesn’t for one minute think that Benz doesn’t know every single person in the building and their reason for being here today. 

“I was thinking two nights from now?” Frank smirks at Cobra, whose jaw in serious danger of dislocating at this point. “It’s a Saturday so it should just be Dracs in there - I don’t really want to hurt any people you know, just send a message.” 

Benzedrine nods approvingly and opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by Cobra, who throws up his hands and starts to pace up and down. 

“Hold up for a second there Ghoul. Are you telling me - you’re going to bomb the motherfucking headquarters? Are you actually serious?” 

The disbelief on his face makes Frank proud in a weird kind of way - he hasn’t done it yet and for all he knows something will go wrong and he never will; but knowing just the idea of his plan has a hardened rebel open mouthed in shock confirms to him what the magnitude and effect of what he’s doing will be.   
He decides to torture Cobra for a minute by withholding the details as punishment for being a dick this morning and just nods, and turns back to Benz. 

“You were saying, Benzedrine?” 

The guy shoots an amused glance between the two of them and blows the dark hair out of his eyes before answering, “Saturday sounds good Ghoul. I’ve given it some thought and, with your go ahead, I’m going to tell the trusted members of the club what’s going to happen and give them the choice of whether or not they want to help. We may get four or five, and I thought you could post people as guards or distractions in other areas to draw away attention. I can provide radios and weapons if you’d like - whatever you think.” 

It’s more than Frank had even thought to hope for - not only is Benz giving him free bomb materials and a place to stay, he’s also offering equipment and his blessing for his personal crew, and closest friends, to support him. It’s the biggest vote of confidence anyone in the city could give him, and for a moment he’s almost overwhelmed by the absolute trust Benzedrine has placed in him; it’s a little nerve wracking actually. What if he does get something wrong? If he’s responsible for someone getting hurt, or worse? 

Searching Benz’s face he sees no worry or concern - just an exhilarated glint that mirrors the excitement he himself has at pulling off something so huge. It settles his nerves, and he replies, “Benz, that would be amazing. Everything you’ve done for me.. I can’t thank you enough man.” 

Benzedrine answers with a hair scruff and a chuckle. “Ghoul, buddy, I love ya, but I’m not doing it for you. I hate that company as much as the next guy, and I want to see them taken down too. That’s why I’m doing it.” 

There’s a steely flash in his eyes when he speak that Frank secretly thinks that he’d hate to be the on the receiving end of; Benzedrine is a scary little dude when he wants to be. 

Cobra stops pacing and crouches down to look Frank in the eye where he’s still sat on the sofa. 

“I’m with you Fun Ghoul. Whatever you need me to do I will do; let me have a part in this. I won’t let you down.” 

He extends his hand and doesn’t break eye contact for a second, not even blinking; Frank takes it, and just like that he has help. 

Benzedrine stands up and claps them both on the back, looking for all the world like a proud father. He grins wolfishly at Frank and says, “I’m with you too Ghoul, all the way man. It’s been too long since we did something big, we needed a crazy little motherfucker like you to come kick our asses into gear.” 

He walks away having wrapped everything up for now, but turns back before he reaches the door to the hallway and booms across the room, making everyone scattered around look up; 

“And if we go down, let’s take some of these pigs down with us, Fun Ghoul. We’ll live for-fucking-ever.” 

~*~*~

For the next two days Frank lives it up with a round the clock full stomach, a hot shower in the mornings, and a real bed in his own room - the rooms of the base spread further than he had thought, and there are at least two dozen private bedrooms, offices, living areas and even a games room besides the big club and its bar. There’s also a huge underground warehouse full to the brim with tradables and food, clothes, tech, survival supplies; anything he can think of and more. Best of all, Benz has a music room decked out with guitars, drums, basses, even a grand piano. Frank doesn’t get more than a couple of hours to appreciate the miracle that it is, but promises himself he’ll come back when he falls in love with the feeling of his fingers on the strings of a guitar. He gets lost a few times inside the boundaries of the headquarters, but there’s always someone to point him back in the right direction. 

He fills the days with as much as he can, and learns Drac patrol routes off by heart. He tinkers for hours in his room until he has a detonator, three sizeable bombs and two smaller ones to use as distractions; they’re simple, but powerful. He also meets a lot of the people who flow in and out of the club with messages, ideas and useful bits and bobs as well as getting to know the regulars and full timers pretty well - too well in some cases. 

He shudders to think about the morning he walked in on Cobra in the shower.

On Friday he even sits down for a full two hours with Kobra Kid when he pops in after work, and they get lost in a talk about tech - the guy really is a genius, and he has to dumb it down in some places when Frank can’t keep up. Besides the night vision goggles he’s designed reflective vests that minimise the damage of ray guns and is working on some kind of silent scrambler that makes Dracs crazy - tapping into the damage done to their brains by BLI when they wipe them of their past selves. As if this wasn’t enough, he’s even trained in first aid and basic surgery, through his job with BLI - Kobra works with Dracs who have been injured, fixes them up and sends them back out. He’s a regular here, but still passes as a zombie during the day and seems to be getting by unnoticed by the company, who still believe he’s on his pills and working for A Better Tomorrow. 

It creeps Frank out just a little when he shows him his impression of a zombie - over the two years he’s been off the pills Kobra has perfected the mindless gaze and lifeless actions of a normal Battery City citizen a little too well for comfort. 

He also meets the tattooed guy who had been sat with Benzedrine - Stereo Heart - and his equally inked but much shorter friend - Straight Edge - both of whom are part of Benz’s inner circle. He immediately hits it off with Stereo but has a bit of a rougher start with Edge, who doesn’t seem to give his trust away quite as easily as the rest of them seem to. 

He gets a pleasant shock when he hears the patter of little feet one day and discovers Ruby darting around the club when he pops his head in, with ‘Fro panting after her. The guy is good friends with Sandman, so Frank’s gotten to know him pretty well around the market and is thrilled when he’s informed that ‘Fro has moved him and Ruby here permanently, after much discussion with Benzedrine about the safety of a kid on base; it’s great to have a familiar face in with all the strangers, and he’s a great laugh, and a wicked guitarist. Frank is a little jealous to tell the truth, but cheers up when he finds out ‘Fro has visited before and had more practice. 

Even better, the guy has something going with Straight Edge, and as a result he warms up to Frank. Once he had Edge’s trust he was a really great dude. 

He does feel a little sorry for Declan though, when he remembers he and Ruby mumbling in the corner of the market, and promises himself to bring the little guy to visit her as much as e can when this is all over. Thinking of him and Sandman make his heart pang, and he tries to focus on working as much as he can instead - he can’t afford any distractions, no matter how confident he is.

All in all, by Saturday lunchtime he feels pretty good and is prepared for the night to come when Benzedrine calls him into his office. Unfortunately Benz is a man in high demand and he hasn’t seen all that much of him, but he’s a good guy and has made room to talk things over with Frank a couple of times over dinner or a drink in the bar. 

Now though, Frank feels almost like he’s in trouble, sitting facing Benz across his desk in his office, even with the bright walls and relaxed atmosphere. Benzedrine leans back in his chair and looks smug when he speaks. 

“Okay Ghoul, I just wanted to let you know, I spoke to the people I trust about your plan, and I’ve had five people come forward to volunteer their help for tonight.” 

Frank’s thrilled - five is a great number, plus Benzedrine, and he only feels more and more positive about the plan - at this point, with so much good luck and extensive, he can just feel the thing being pulled off without a hitch. 

“Who?” he asks, trying to second guess who would volunteer for him. 

“Well, there’s Cobra, but you already know that,” Benz counts the names off on his fingers as he speaks. “Stereo Heart, Kobra Kid, Straight Edge, and ‘Fro said he’d watch the cameras in the control room here and keep you updated - doesn’t want to be too risky what with Ruby, you know how it is. Then there’s me and you, so that makes seven.” 

Frank nods absently, but is already thinking over where to place everyone to minimise danger and get the plan running smoothly; he’s thinking Stereo and and Kobra to set off the distractions, purely because of the joy he knows they’ll both get out of watching the explosions, and Edge with Benz to keep an eye on the patrol routes of the Dracs to make sure there are no changes. He’ll keep Cobra with him as a last minute warning system and helping hand with laying the bombs, and get everyone connected with radios and hooked up with ray guns to defend themselves, but decides on the spot not to have anyone going anywhere alone. Pairs are much safer and he wants security at a maximum the whole night through; if the plan is a bust it’s a bust, but it can always be attempted again - it’s not worth anyone’s life. 

He’s pulled out of his strategizing when Benzedrine laughs and leans across the table, crossing his eyes and poking his tongue out at him. “I can practically smell your brain working Fun Ghoul, chill okay? I’ve told everyone to be in here at nine tonight so we can go over what’s happening together, and we’ll leave at eleven, just like you planned. They’re all super pumped, I’m super pumped, you’re super pumped, and tonight is gonna be such a huge success that our grandkids’ grandkids will be singing songs about it when we’re dead and gone. Sound good?” 

Frank grins and nods, then excuses himself to go put some finishing touches on the bombs in preparation for tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is about to go down! Frank's story finishes here, but watch this space.. Ray, Mikey and Gerard will follow soon. Hope you've enjoyed this fic as much as I've loved writing it!

“Okay, so does everyone know what they’re doing?” 

Frank finishes up his little presentation, and checks the faces of everyone in the room; Benz is lounging in his desk chair looking for all the world like he plans high-risk operations targeting huge, evil companies every day of his life; which actually, he thinks, is probably not too far off the truth. Stereo Heart and ‘Fro are practically bouncing in their seats, and even Straight Edge has a quiet, if somewhat menacing excitement in his face. 

The only person who looks nervous is Kobra Kid, who is sat cross legged on the floor at Benz’s feet, resting his head against his thigh and fiddling with a loose thread on his jacket, eyes downcast. It worries Frank a little; thrilled as he is that the others are looking forward to the hit Kobra’s reaction is probably more appropriate. No matter how well planned it’s going to be extremely risky, and if anyone gets hurt the responsibility will be entirely on him. The thought of one these people who have volunteered to to risk their lives for him actually getting hurt makes him feel sick to his stomach, but he pushes it aside for now and gets back to planning - hopefully if he makes sure everything is organised down to a T there won’t be anything to worry about. 

When everyone nods he says, 

“Great. We’re going to be leaving for BLI headquarters in half an hour so go get anything you need, and make sure you’ve eaten and drunk enough - water, Cobra!” He tries and fails to look stern at Cobra’s devious expression, and shoos him out of the door, yelling after him, “I’m gonna check dude, don’t you dare!” and shaking his head at the faint reply that floats back down the corridor; “Yes Mom!” 

The others file out of the room to go and get themselves ready, and Benz goes off too with a quick peck on Kobra’s cheek; no one has said anything about it to Frank but from the constant closeness and whispered conversations between them it’s pretty clear that Benzedrine and Kobra Kid have something going. 

When Benz leaves Frank is left in the office alone with Kobra, who is still sat on the floor with a little crease in between his eyebrows. He’s not quite sure what to do - clearly something is bothering him, but he’s never been all that great with comforting people, in this world you just have to roll with the punches and get on with life. 

Still, this is his mission and he’s grown to really like Kobra over the last couple of days, so he walks lightly over to where he’s sitting and crouches down to bring their faces level, saying nothing until he lifts his head to look Frank in the eye with an expression that is just a little haunted. 

“What’s up Kid?” He keeps his voice soft, and feels as if he’s trying to talk to a frightened animal. The feeling only gets stronger when Kobra’s eyes dart around rapidly before meeting his own again. 

“I just... The mission, it -” 

He stops mid sentence and takes a deep breath. When it doesn’t look like he’s going to continue, Frank caves and says, “Look, Kobra...I really appreciate you offering to help me, I really do. But if you’re having second thoughts - you don’t have to come man. It’s not your problem, no one would think any less of you.” 

Kobra looks up sharply and protests,

“No, no, that’s not it! Of course I want to come, I want to see BLI taken down too. I’m just worried about Benz, Ghoul. You know what he’s like, he’s not taking this seriously because he never does, he hides this place so well but as soon as he leaves he just goes a bit crazy and he’s just not careful enough,” Kobra offers him a quick watery smile, and Frank can see the very real concern in his eyes. 

Kicking himself for being so dense, he settles himself next to Kobra on the floor and puts an arm round his shoulders. 

“Shit, I’m sorry man, I didn’t even think. You two are pretty close huh?” Kobra nods and sniffs. 

“Yeah. We are I guess, but I don’t know Ghoul. I don’t think it’s gonna work out.” 

Frank is pretty surprised at this - from what he’s seen Benz and Kobra are great for each other, one balancing the other out; and both of them have a bright happy glow when they’re around each other. He can’t think what could go wrong between them - sure, Kobra is still a functioning Battery City citizen, but that won’t last forever. He’d just assumed that when the time came he would move down here with the rest of the full-timers and that would be that. Then again, Frank himself isn’t exactly an expert in these things; he doesn’t think the occasional fumble with other city rats in back allies really counts. 

He tries to approach the situation gently, not wanting to upset Kobra further, “Why not? You guys look pretty solid to me, not that I know much really.” 

The other man curls in on himself and away from Frank just fractionally when he replies;  
“I’m just not who he think I am, you know? I’m not who he needs me to be.” When Frank opens his mouth to argue and explain in detail just how awesome Kobra is, he gets cut off. 

“Don’t worry Ghoul, it’ll be fine, I’m probably just being paranoid you know? Thanks for listening though,” he swipes his eyes and gives a more convincing smile. 

“Are you sure Kobra?” Frank isn’t convinced, but doesn’t want to push it too far. 

“Yeah, of course man. It’s just relationships down here, you know how it gets - really, it’s nothing. Even if he isn’t particularly careful the punk has some sort of fucking magic spell, he never gets caught! I’m just being stupid Ghoul, honestly. Don’t worry, I’m super stoked for tonight actually, I’ll go and go and get my stuff now, see you in a few yeah?” 

With that Kobra is up and out of the door, leaving Frank still sat on the ground; he seems okay at least. All of them throw fits now and again, it’s the frustration of living in the shadows day in day out, so it’s not really surprising that Kobra feels a bit weird about him and Benz. He supposes it’s pretty natural to have worries when there are so many things that could go wrong in a relationship even outside of just two people and their personalities.

Actually, he thinks, getting up and making his way to his room to pick up the bombs, it must be doubly hard for Kobra. The rest of them live down here all the time surrounded by colour and music, and it’s probably as close to a home as there is out there anymore, but every day Kobra has to leave it and go back to a white apartment and a world of zombies, silent and colourless. It must be hell for someone so bright and alive - most of his life he has to live as a lie and clearly can only be himself down here in the tunnels, which must suck pretty bad. 

Frank gets to his room and takes the bombs and detonator out from under the bed, and puts them carefully into his trusty old backpack, stuffing it with a shirt to make sure they don’t get jostled too much. They fit perfectly on top of all the things Declan gave him; he’s in the habit of taking everything he owns of value with him when he goes anywhere after a life lived in the slums, and silly as it seems he can’t help but do it, even if he knows everything is safe here. 

Casting an eye over the room he makes sure that he hasn’t left anything behind, and heads back out towards Benz’s office, taking a quick detour to bob into ‘Fro’s room. He’s surrounded by wires and screens borrowed from Benzedrine’s warehouse when Frank pokes his head round the door - someone had worked out how to hack into BLI street security cameras and tonight ‘Fro is in control, monitoring the city and keeping everyone updated. He even has a huge pair of headphones squashing his afro; Ruby is sat on the bed with a handheld radio, her little chest puffed out with pride. When she spies Frank peering into the room she squeals, “Look Fun Ghoul, Daddy gived me the noise box and I’m helping, see!” 

‘Fro leans back on the bed and grins upside down at his daughter, who runs her hands through his bushy hair. 

“You sure are Rubes. Me and you baby girl, we’re gonna get that sorry lot in and out safe as sound, right?” 

Ruby giggles and slaps her tiny little hand against ‘Fro’s big callused one, “Right!” 

They’re adorable to watch, and Frank gets the same warm feeling in stomach that he gets when he sees Dec and Patrick together; sometimes he wishes he had a kid of his own, but maybe in another life. It doesn’t seem fair, bringing a child into this shithole of a world if it can be helped. 

He shakes that issue away to be thought about another time, and checks in with ‘Fro. 

“You okay man? I’m just headed down to the office and then we’re gonna get gone, anything you need before we go?” 

‘Fro just flips his head the right way up and nods at him, saying, “Yeah sure dude, we’re all good here. You guys just get out of there safe yeah? Knock ‘em dead Ghoul.” 

“Thanks man. Keep up the good work kiddo,” Frank grins and leaves the father and daughter to it, and heads back to the office; everyone should be back by now actually, so her hurries it up a bit. 

He walks into a full room and sees that Benz has distributed radios, ray guns and little maps of the Drac patrol routes; Frank had explained the routes earlier but they’d decided it couldn’t hurt to have a hard copy just in case. In addition to the tecchy stuff each person has a brightly coloured mask in their hand - when he sends a questioning look to Benz he shoots him one of his signature bright grins and explains, “Kobra Kid thought of it. The pigs have cameras everywhere and we don’t particularly want to take credit for this particular little adventure. So we had a little dig around in the warehouse and found some halloween masks! Check it out, we got one for you too.”

He throws one of the masks and it hits Frank’s chest; he fumbles and manages to snag it, while Benz sniggers. It’s a purply looking face littered with scars and has a head of shocking green hair - he recognises it straight away as Frankenstein’s monster from TV shows when he was little and a book he once read. He smiles to himself and has a private little moment of amusement - as far as he knows no one else left on the planet knows that his birthday is halloween, and he’d dressed as Frankenstein the few times he went trick or treating with his mom before the bombs dropped. 

“Geddit Ghoul? Frankenstein? Like FRANKenstein?” Kobra Kid looks confused but the others are all clearly quite pleased with their intelligence at linking Fun Ghoul’s mask to his real name. Frank just shakes his head and laughs at the idiots with matching grins sat around, but accepts the stupid mask all the same - secretly, he thinks, it’s pretty cool.

Everyone is sat in their pairs for the night and Cobra comes to sling an arm round him when he enters; the others just look at him expectantly. 

Shit, is he supposed to give some sort of inspirational speech to send them out with? He’s really not so good at that kind of thing, but panics and wracks his brain anyway, trying to come up with something to say. 

“So… guys. Thankyou, uh - thanks for coming. Let’s just like, let’s kick some BLI butt!” 

Nope. 

He cringes as he says it, and then cringes a whole lot more when Cobra’s arm drops from his shoulders and he gives him an unimpressed look and says, “Ghoul, dude, that was awful. But you’re not wrong, let’s get these motherfuckers!” 

See, that’s just unfair! Cobra didn’t really say anything that he didn’t but it just sounded so much cooler, goddamn. Frank huffs a little but allows his hair to be ruffled anyway, and looks around the room at the nervous, but clearly exhilarated faces of his friends. 

“Seriously though guys, this means a whole lot to me, so thankyou. Everyone knows what they’re doing, yes?” A room full of nods. “Great. Last thing from me is to be safe, don’t go taking any unnecessary risks, got it? I’m looking at you Benzedrine,” he directs a stern look at Benzedrine, who blinks innocently and makes a face as if to say ‘who, me?’. 

“Anyone smells a hint of danger you send a warning through the radios and get the hell out - and don’t get split up.” 

Straight Edge surprises him by being the one to mutter “Yes, Mom,” under his breath and send a bright grin his way, but he laughs it off anyway - secretly he’s pretty excited that Edge likes him enough to rag on him. 

“Okay okay, I’ll stop. Come on then, what are we waiting for?” 

Frank ignores the chorus of “You!’s” and ushers everyone out of the door, closing it behind him and then leading the way down the long, brightly coloured corridor to the entrance he and Benz had used just two days ago - it feels like so much longer in his mind. 

When everyone is out into the eerie, dripping tunnels and the huge door shuts behind them and is hidden again, it starts to hit him that this is it; all that time scheming and planning and thinking the day would never come, and now all of a sudden here he is. He can pinpoint the exact moment he feels the adrenaline hit his bloodstream, and from the sounds of it, the others all have similar reactions - the quiet bickering and good natured banter trails off into silence as Benz and Frank lead the way, leaving the club far behind them. 

All too soon Benzedrine stops him at the bottom rung of one of the slimy ladders that are dotted around the tunnel system, and begins to climb; Frank goes second and emerges into the same dirty white backroom he’d come into the tunnels through, this time with Benz stood by the door that leads into the dark shop, double checking that it’s empty with his ray gun out. 

As he stands by the hole in the ground and helps everyone else up Frank feels his own borrowed gun weighing heavy against his hip in its very own holster; it’s brand new and top of the range, but it still feels alien to him. He’s used to fighting with his hands, and a gun kind of feels like cheating. Still, he’d insisted that everyone else have one just in case, and it does make sense; it’ll just take a little getting used to. 

One by one everyone makes into the backroom until the little space feels very crowded. The silence of night hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the sounds of breathing as they all clasp hands or shoulders; saying silent ‘good lucks’ and ‘be safes’. There shouldn’t be any problems with the hit, but no one wants to leave anything unsaid, and Frank too makes sure to try and express his gratitude with his eyes and a clasp of hands. 

He pretends not to notice Kobra and Benz stood slightly to the side, eyes shut with foreheads touching and fingers linked at their sides.

When they break apart the mood in the room shifts as everyone steels themselves, and Frank allows all the tension and emotion and concern to flow out of him, through his feet into the ground, and sharpens his mind to focus. He can feel the determined energy in the air as the others do the same, and sees the hard look in the eyes of the men around him that says they will take no shit tonight - it’s a look that screams that anyone who crosses their path will not live to regret it, and it ignites a sudden flare of fierce, grim joy in his belly.

With growing confidence and a feeling of sudden calm with his friends at his back, Frank steps towards the door, slips on his Frankenstein mask, takes a deep breath, and pushes it open. 

~*~*~

One by one the group slips out of the door and into the streets all covered in their own silly halloween masks, slinking away in pairs and melting into the shadows to their designated areas. It leaves Frank and Cobra as the last ones, before they too step away from the safety and colour of the clubs onto the pavements. 

They take the most direct route they can while skirting the Drac patrols Frank knows are out there thanks to the intel Benz’s people provided, hands on their guns but leaving them holstered. It had been Edge’s idea; if any member of the group were to come across a stray Drac plan A is to act zombie. Since it’s gone midnight, however, the real zombies have zero reason to be roaming the streets and so even Drac intelligence might stretch far enough to notice something suspicious, meaning a fight - plan B. Still, it’s worth a shot, and anything that has a chance of preventing shots getting fired has Frank’s approval. 

It all goes pretty much as planned though, and they make their way through the eerily silent streets undisturbed. It’s beyond creepy, and Frank shudders a little at the way the overwhelming white of the walls and the pavements even in the dead of night - they have a weird glow in the pale streetlamps that just isn’t natural. 

Cobra walks cheerfully by his side in silence, the glimmer of excitement at the thrill of doing something so dangerous still clear in the dark - he’s practically bouncing on his feet. Frank makes sure they stick to the shadows at the sides of the buildings present even when the sun is down, and they’re soon in sight of the HQ. It’s a huge, ugly building, stark white as everything else is, sprawled across the ground and looming high in the air. 

Frank and Cobra continue on through the empty city until they’re just three streets away, and the radio at Cobra’s side crackles - Fro’s voice comes from it, tinny but clear, disturbing the silence. 

“Heads up Benzedrine and Straight Edge. Coupla Dracs headed your way, lay low for a few.” 

A short burst of static sounds in response from the two, signalling that they received the message and understood.

Frank directs a look at Cobra in his witchy mask, and his stomach tightens; it was bound to happen, but he’s uneasy knowing that Benz and Edge are so close to Dracs without him there to make sure they’re okay, no matter how well they can look after themselves. 

He hardly dares to breathe for the next two streets, straining to hear even though he knows the others are too far away for him to hear even if they were shouting - he just can’t help himself, and feels a little like a mother hen. 

After a few minutes though, Edge’s voice comes through the radio and confirms, if a little breathlessly, that they’re safe. 

“All clear - they didn’t see us. Fun Ghoul, we’re in position and it all looks quiet. You and Cobra are good to go. Good luck.” 

Benz and Edge are hidden opposite the main entrance to the HQ in a dead end alley among the bins, with a direct view of the Drac training grounds and unit quarters; they’ll be able to give a few minutes heads up if any unexpected patrols leave the building. Kobra and Stereo are a few miles away at a pill production centre with with the two smaller bombs, ready to provide a distraction. 

The radio crackles again, and this time it’s Kobra’s voice that comes through; 

“We’re ready too Ghoul. Just say the word - let’s do it.” 

Now just a single street away from the back of the HQ Frank and Cobra hurry it up a bit. When they reach the pavement across the street Frank runs his eye quickly over the outside of the building and, seeing nothing that shouldn’t be there, steps out. 

His heart almost stops when Cobra, silent at his side, suddenly grips his arm and drags him back into the shadows before he can get more than half a step away, and hisses in his ear, “Fucking Crows man. Watch it.” He points out two figures lurking just inside a small, discrete door, dressed in white just as Dracs are, but with different masks - these have painted on black eyes and a sadistic smiling mouth reaching right up their cheeks. Scarecrows are much less common than Dracs, but much more intelligent, and easily ten times as dangerous - and Frank nearly just stepped out in front of not one, but two. 

His knees go a little weak for a second as he meets Cobra’s eyes and nods, and they wrap the shadows around them like a cloak, concealed from the sight of the Crows. Frank hears Cobra send out a quiet message on the radio that they’ll be held up a little, but doesn’t take his eyes off the two figures for a second. 

What are they doing? He doesn’t like it - Scarecrow is a pretty specialist unit and they only occasionally are seen out on the streets of the city - nobody's exactly sure what their main objective is, but the general consensus is that the majority of them are outside of the city walls, and form a small army fighting against the desert rebels. 

These two are just stood at the entrance, looking particularly out of place, and it doesn’t sit right with him; Scarecrows are just like Dracs, they’re robots in human bodies and they look like it. But these ones.. He can’t pinpoint it, but there’s something that seems off, something just a little too human in the way one is kicking its feet, and the other is glancing around just a bit too smoothly. 

Cobra finishes his message and reappears right at Frank’s shoulder, so he checks with him - “Do they look weird to you? I don’t like way they’re acting.” 

Cobra lets out a little snort and whispers back, “Come on Ghoul, you’re just being paranoid. They’re probably new Crows and they’re just testing them out on an easy night. They can’t all be perfect straight away, right? Chill out man, don’t get crazy, concentrate. See, they’re leaving.” 

Cobra’s right, even as Frank watches the Crows leave the entryway and take off down the street, passing right by him and Cobra without even noticing their presence. He’s probably right in all honesty - he has been very paranoid about this whole mission with responsibility weighing heavy on his shoulders, and anyway, the two have left them alone, so even if they are out of the ordinary, does it really matter? 

He shakes the thought out of his head and forgets it; Cobra is right, he really does have to concentrate and he can’t afford to get distracted by something that is irrelevant to the immediate safety of his team. It’s time to get the plan motion. 

“Cobra, tell Stereo and Kid to detonate their bombs and get back to base.” 

He just nods silently and removes the radio from his side again, muttering quietly but clearly into it. 

“Stereo Heart and Kobra Kid, we’re in place. Set distractions asap, and get back to base. Ghoul’s orders are not to stop for anyone or anything. Stay safe.” 

The short burst of static comes through again signalling that the message was understood, and Cobra sets the radio back in its place. They wait, listening, and it’s only a few seconds before they hear a boom floating to their ears from the distance - the distraction bombs are relatively small but Frank made sure to build them so that they would do enough damage to draw attention and keep any stray BLI officials focused on them while he and Cobra set and detonate the main bombs round HQ. Still, they’re big enough to hear a few miles away since the city is so quiet, and it’s Ghoul’s signal to get going, fast; the distraction is great for a short time, but after the initial shock top BLI officials and Drac soldiers will more than likely head straight for the HQ to discuss retaliation. As of right now, they wait until a message comes through the radio from Edge saying that what seems like most of the city population of Dracs have swarmed out of the training grounds and towards the bombsite.

This time he makes sure to really carefully check the area for anyone or anything, glances at Cobra to check he doesn’t see anything either, and then steps out again to cross the street. The two of them move quickly and quietly through the light from the streetlamps to the relative safety of the shadows of the HQ itself, and Frank’s heart at least is beating hard enough that he’s not convinced that any Drac within a ten mile radius won’t hear it. 

Having studied maps and diagrams of the building extensively over the last few days, he knows exactly where he is, and where he needs to go. They’ve chosen a route from the tunnel exit to the back left corner of the building, the area for the first bomb, and are now stood at exactly the chosen place - Frank methodically slips his rucksack off his shoulders and removes the first bomb. He tucks into a shadowy little crevice in the wall and replaces his rucksack, leaving it there and moving on quickly while Cobra watches the streets, scanning for anyone who hasn’t gone straight to the scene of Kobra Kid and Stereo Heart’s bombs. 

They creep along the side of the building and make it to the front in a minute or two without seeing any BLI agents. As they get to the front left corner of the building Frank slips the second bomb into place on the ground, pushed up against the wall, and he and Cobra hurry on, jogging directly across the front of the building. From this point he can see the huge black smiley face that is the logo of BLI plastered in enormous scale across the entire front face of the building. He glances too towards the alley that he knows Benz and Edge are hiding in, but sees nothing except a shadowy side street - he’s pretty impressed actually, and glad that they’re safe and invisible. 

Frank’s heart is beating a mile a minute as they approach the right corner of the front of the building, acutely aware that he’s less than a minute away from detonating the bombs - then they just have to get back to the tunnels and he’ll have coordinated the biggest single attack against BLI since their takeover. 

With Cobra a steady, calming presence at his side Frank reaches the corner and plants the last bomb. It nestles into the side of the building and he whips around, yanking out the detonator and putting his rucksack back on his back as he does so, and runs as fast as he can the way they’d come, Cobra half a step behind talking fast into the radio, telling the others to get the fuck out. He sees two dark figures streak away from the side street, and follows a minute or so behind them. Running as fast as they can it should only take a few minutes for everyone to get back to the tunnels, and they’re pretty much off scot free. They get a couple of streets away, and Frank flicks a switch on the detonator - there’s a huge blast of light and an earth-shattering boom, and the HQ fucking crumbles behind them. Frank can’t help but turn to look at it, just once - and the sight of all that planning and teamwork makes every fucking second worth it.

It’s all quiet as they run, sprinting towards the entrance in the dead of the night without being disturbed once. The radio crackles and Benz’s voice confirms that the other four are all safe inside - just Frank and Cobra left on the streets, and they’re only a block away. The weight from Frank’s stomach lifts away with every step he takes, and he allows the elation to cautiously take over; they’re gonna make it, they’ve done it, and it was fucking easy. 

He glances to his side to see a huge grin on Cobra’s face, and feels his own answering one spread over his cheeks, Cobra lets out a whoop, and despite the noise sending Frank’s paranoid instincts into overdrive, he can’t help but join in and let the fire inside of him rip out from his throat in loud, beautiful, noise. 

He feels laughter bubble in his stomach and wrench its way out, loud in the night air, and Cobra howls at his side, pure, unadulterated joy evident in his rough voice. 

Out of nowhere there is a bright flash of light, and the howls cut off all too sharply. 

Ice replaces the warm laughter in Frank’s stomach when Cobra’s reassuring presence right next to him disappears, and a loud thump rings in the silence left behind by his howls. Frank stops running, and whips round to see his friend lying motionless a few feet behind him on the white ground - his heart seizes even further at the sight of a single trickle of red running out from underneath the garish witch mask to stain the cold pavement. 

At the other end of the street is a team of five or six Dracs, running full pelt at Frank and Cobra, guns drawn and pointed right at them.  
Through the agony of grief that has exploded in Frank’s every cell, he sees red; these Dracs, these soldiers, these fucking monsters, they killed him. They killed Cobra. Cobra is dead, lying on the cold hard motherfucking white ground and he will never again sing on the stage in the club, or pick up a spray can, or adopt another new kid like he did with Frank. 

He has to kill them; all of them. 

Frank hears a high pitched keening noise that hurts his ears, and realises it’s him. His gun is already in his hand, pointing at the first of the Dracs - he moves in front of Cobra’s stationary body without thinking, subconsciously looking to protect him, even if it is too late. 

He feels a wave of something come over him as he stares down the sights, and lets it take him - Frank goes away somewhere inside his own head, retreating to mourn the friend that he allowed to die, and Fun Ghoul comes out to play - and Fun Ghoul is fucking angry. 

Ghoul fires off six shots in quick succession, barely even stopping to aim, and within ten seconds of each other every Drac falls to the floor, before they even have the chance to pull the trigger a second time. 

As the last shot leaves the barrel of the gun the strange feeling recedes and so does Fun Ghoul - Frank is left shivering and alone, standing next to the body of the man who volunteered his life for him, and gave it. He sinks to the ground next to him and sits, in the middle of the road in the dim light of the streetlamps, with a hand hovering over him, not quite summoning up the courage to touch. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind Frank knows that every second he sits here there are other Dracs and probably a small army of Scarecrows hunting for him, the bomber - but he can’t bring himself to care. He’s going to stay with Cobra - he can’t leave him alone out here, not now. 

Barely a minute passes before he hears boots on the ground, running right towards to them, but the all the fight in him has drained away with Cobra’s life. He stays where he is and leaves his gun at side, shuts his eyes and waits for it to all be over. Fun Ghoul rears his head somewhere inside of him, but settles back down almost instantly. It doesn’t matter all that much - there will always be another city rat to take his place, and the guys at the club lose people they love more than him on a regular basis. They’ll mourn for Cobra, and him for a little while, and then move on because that’s the way of the world. The only pang of regret he feels is for Sandman and Declan - he wishes he could look after them, but then again, he couldn’t look after Cobra. 

The city is better off without him. 

Frank braces for an impact that doesn’t come, and he opens his eyes, a little impatient in all honesty, to see what the holdup is. A single figure is illuminated in the weak light of the streetlamps, but from this angle all he can see is a dark outline of someone tall, with a lot of hair. Kinda reminds him of ‘Fro. 

To his surprise, the figure is putting away his gun - why? Frank is the easiest target in the world right now. It hits him a second later that the heads of BLI are certainly more than a little pissed at him, and would be very pleased to see him alive; the thought sends a dull twist through his stomach, but he still can’t bring himself to care enough to fight. 

The figure is reaching down and Frank sees two fingers come down to press lightly against Cobras neck, and then Frank’s own. Clearly the thing has realised Cobra is dead because it leaves him there, but a hand reaches down to make him face forward, and stares into a set of brown eyes that look almost as dead as Drac ones, but with just a little spark of life. 

It sets off some sluggish questions in his mind - who is this? They’re not a Drac. 

Before he gets time to think it through properly there are two hands under his arms, dragging him upright, and a voice hissing in his ear. 

“Dude, you gotta go. I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing out here but this joint is crawling with pigs man, you gotta jet.” 

Clearly the guy isn’t with BLI, but he’s not one of the city rebels that Frank has seen in this area before - he doesn’t recognise the voice. Regardless, he can’t leave Cobra.

Frank just shakes his head and glances down at his friend’s still body, and hears the man groan. 

“Come on dude, you’re gonna get ghosted!” The guy, having hauled Frank to his feet, gives him a little push, but he just stumbles forward a few steps and sits his ass right back down next to Cobra’s head. The strange man talks funny though - ‘Ghosted’? ‘Jet’? He gives him a better look and registers that the dark jacket he’s wearing is made from leather, which went out of circulation years ago, and has colourful patches decorating the shoulders and chest in red and yellow, dull as it is in the weak light. 

Realisation dawns on him - this guy is from the god damned fucking desert, so what in hell is he doing in the heart of Battery City in the middle of the night? 

He thinks on it for a second before realising that he doesn’t care. 

The man, though, apparently does care, because he once again drags him to his feet and this time grips his arm, moving away from Cobra and pulling him along. This is too much for Frank, and he shocks himself a little when he snarls like a wild animal and shakes out of his grip. 

The man glances around him and makes an exasperated noise, then looks back at Frank. 

“Look little dude, I’m real sorry and all but your friend here is dust. Shit is about to go costa rica and we gotta hit the red line man or we’re gonna get ghosted too. Got it?”  
The words sink into Frank’s brain, and he realises that this guy really could get him out, and he could go back to Patrick and Dec and live that life that had been handed to him on a plate - but it would mean leaving Cobra, and he’s not sure he can do that. Besides, who’s to say he can trust this stranger? For all he knows this is a trick, and he’d be delivering himself right into the hands of BLI.

He stands in the middle of the stranger, who has a wild look in his eyes, and Cobra’s body on the cold white ground. The sound of a whole unit’s worth of boots floats to his ears through the still night, not more than a street or two away. Frank’s mind whirls with images of Cobra going down, of Benz with his bright grin, of the club that oozes colour and noise and life, of Patrick’s kind eyes and Declan’s face when he finds something cool and brings it to show him. 

Frank turns to meet the strange man’s eyes and nods once. With a last look at Cobra’s lifeless body as the sound of running feet gets closer he swallows the pain in his throat, slips back into the shadows, and runs.


End file.
